


Dead Star Shine

by ShadowcrestNightingale



Series: Darkwave Chronicles [4]
Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Crime Drama, Mystery, Mythology - Freeform, Recovery, Regret, Reunions, Survival, Utopia, crime and punishment, perfection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 19:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 38,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12489272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowcrestNightingale/pseuds/ShadowcrestNightingale
Summary: Jet's obsessive search locates Spike in the nick of time reuniting the Bebop crew in an illegal move. Adrift without his guiding star, Spike dives into a muddle, chasing leads on a missing persons case that the ISSP failed to see a pattern. His attempt to deflect only hits a raw nerve when the crew exposes a scheme aimed at perfection. Can Spike prove he was worth saving? Year 2073.





	1. Session 1

_ **Dead Star Shine** _

 

“ _Are you sure you wanna know what death is like, Jet? It's not what you think. People talk about a white light, your life flashing before your eyes, or some comforting voice calling you from the beyond. Heh, that's a crock of shit. No, it's the world you knew slipping through your fingers as you sink into a cold embrace. Numb. Listless … there is no fighting the inevitable slide until you close your eyes knowing one last thing. Opening them again would bring more pain than a soul can bear.”_

 

_ **Session 1** _

 

The transport ship jostled every passenger inside, from the ISSP agents on guard to the prisoners secured in their restraints. Bob heaved a sigh as the engines whined down.  _ How did I draw the short straw for this delivery? Twenty-nine days in hyperspace. After this short stop to drop off inmates and supplies it'll be another twenty-nine back. The things I do for the ISSP. _

 

“We're down.” The pilot called over her shoulder. “Bay doors shut. Give them a few moments to purge the atmo in the bay and you can unload. Welcome to Quidlivun Cavus Prison Colony. Worst shithole in the galaxy.”

 

The four ISSP agents stared expectantly at the light above the ship door. A full minute passed before it flashed from red to green.

 

“Alright.” Bob glanced through the bars at the dozen prisoners. “Let's make this quick.”

 

The hatch opened and a couple of guards bundled up in heavy thermal gear stood with weapons at the ready.

 

Holding up the manifest, Bob waved them down. “Cool your jets, we're in control.”

 

“Just protocol.” A guard came up the took the manifest, skimming through it. “Can't be too careful. Specially with fresh arrivals.” He counted the prisoners behind the bars. “Yup. Everything matches. Follow us in with your charges. Bring up the rear.”

 

Steely-eyed, everyone remained on edge, weapons in reach as the line of restrained prisoners shuffled out. The moment Bob left the hold of the ship a blast of air chilled him to the core. The halls of the sprawling building tucked in a yawning cavus, the steep walls providing a barrier that seemed pointless given the inhospitable environment of the planet. Pluto was barely terraformed. In an atmosphere cold enough to freeze nitrogen solid, any idiot who tried to break out would freeze to death in seconds outside the structure. Even inside the structure Bob watched his breath condense into a cloud. Ice crystals fringed every surface in the main halls as they passed through the system of gates. Each one clanged shut behind them before the next would open.

 

At last, they reached the processing point. With nothing to do but wait for the inmates to be processed, Bob and the ISSP agents lingered in the chilly air.

 

Kenneth hugged himself. “Damn it's cold in here. Can you imagine being one of the stiffs locked in this joint? Wish I'd brought my gear suited for Callisto. How cold is it in here?”

 

One of the guards pointed at a thermometer. “Just below freezing. It's as warm as we can make a place this big. Only got a few more hours and my shift ends. Can't wait to go to the satellite ship and warm up.”

 

“Doesn't it suck being out this far?”

 

“Pretty much. But that's why guard duty stints are rotated out here. A man'd go nuts subjected to this for years on end.” He nodded as another guard waved the last prisoner into the door. “Alright, that's the last of the scumbags. Give us a bit longer to unload the supplies and you guys can head on back. Bet you can't wait to get off this frozen turd.”

 

Bob wiped at the mucus solidifying on his mustache. “To put it mildly.” He turned and started back the way they had come through the frosted hallways, the general population of inmates idled around the corridors dressed in thin blue thermal jumpsuits with a reflective stripe on the left breast bearing their assigned numbers. Each wore a composite collar with a multi-prong key lock. An amber light shimmered on the side. Bob recalled a note about the collar's activation. If any prisoner made it into the launch bay with one of those on it was the last step he'd take. A dose of an aggressive poison lay waiting for the signal. That bay was the only way out of Quidlivun.

 

The halls were far from silent. Coughing filled the air, desperate gasps from gaunt figures huddled to preserve warmth. Men who were known to be the most violent and despicable criminals in the system were reduced to shivering wrecks.

 

Kenneth quickened his steps, eyeing one of the prisoner's practically hacking up a lung. “Ehhh … I don't like this place.”

 

“Stop being a fool. Didn't you read up before we took off?” Bob grumbled. “Places like this are rife with Ice Fever. Relax, with this quick stint you won't catch it. Even if you did, warm temperatures foster recovery. You'll note the guards are all fine.”

 

“Oh yeah,” replied Kenneth sheepishly.

 

_ Still, doesn't make me feel comfortable. _ He shuddered as they approached a wall with three prisoner's seated on the floor, their wrists bound above their bowed heads. The position hardly looked comfortable. One man writhed, his flesh an unhealthy blue. “ … help … me … ” he rattled, ending in a feeble cough. 

 

The prisoner to his right snapped. “Oh, shut your trap you damn moron! You're the one that got us into this.”

 

The third grunted, “Heh, you're one to speak. It's your fault he's dying. _You_ shived his ass!”

 

Bob's steps halted. He zeroed in on the last figure. That voice was hoarse, but familiar. It was hard to be certain in the dim light, the silhouette distorted by the shaggy mop of matted overgrown blackish hair and an unkempt beard … or was that hair slightly green? A glint off his dark brown eyes unsettled Bob … they'd never met in person. He'd just been a figure in the background of video calls, a voice loaded with snide remarks.  _ No! It can't be! _

 

He continued to grouse, “Nice work leaving a gash in his thermal suit big enough to let in the elements.”

 

“I should have done it to you!”

 

“You tried. Where did _that_ get you?”

 

The nearby guard slammed a long, wired pole against the wall between them. Sparks flew. “Silence!”

 

Through the tangled strands of frosted hair, the man snarked, “That asshole started it!” His raised voice cut off sharply as a wracking cough stole his breath. He leaned his head back, obviously fighting to lengthen his chest cavity and release the pressure from his raised arms by lifting against the shackles.

 

When he finished, the guard smirked. “I don't care who started it. One more word out of either of you and I'll split your thermal suits wide open and watch you turn into human-cicles.”

 

His eyes narrowed at the guard in a hostile stare. But he said nothing more. The lights illuminated his irises. Bob, stiffened. The right was a shade or two lighter than the left. There was no doubt.  _ Spike! _

 

The guard wandered over to chat with the others as the disruption quieted down. Nonchalantly, Bob wandered closer and bent over Spike, his head bowed to his chest just above the number: 240594126. Bob whispered, “How long have you been coughing?”

 

“Piss off!” he growled, ending in a blatant attempt to curtail a coughing fit.

 

“Spike. Answer me, quickly.”

 

He shot a venomous glare, gritting his teeth. The expression faded the moment he locked eyes. The bravado stripped away, Spike's gaunt figure sagged into the shackle-hold. This close there was no overlooking the sores peering out from beneath the restraints. Nor the deep purple marks coloring his knuckles from a recent scrap. He barely rasped out, “Bob?”

 

With a nod, Bob glanced over his shoulder to be certain the guard wasn't approaching. “It's important, Spike. How long?”

 

His eyes shut. Spike took a few shaky breaths before he shrugged as much as the shackles allowed. “Time has little meaning here … I … I honestly can't tell you. Maybe … a couple of weeks? Shit, I don't know.”

 

Bob reached forward, about to reply when a slamming accompanied by sparks startled him. Spike flinched away from the bright blue shower. Choking the long pole, the guard glared down at Spike. “What did I say about speaking, maggot!”

 

“Easy!” Bob stood up and spread his hands wide. “I demanded he answer a question. He just followed the orders of an ISSP officer.” Slowly, he moved off, glancing over his shoulder. Bob couldn't help but hold his breath at the desperate hope dying in the gaze barely concealed by the mat of hair.  _ Damn it, why did it have to be here?  _ The moment he reached the transport ship the crew snapped at him for the delay.

 

Bob strapped in and glanced out the window as the ship lumbered into the air through the opened bay doors. Below, the harsh frozen cavus vanished into a blue shadow. His heart dropped into his belly. All this time … how had they not known in all this time?

 


	2. Session 2

_ **Session 2** _

 

“Ed.” Jet rapped his fingers on what served as the _Bebop_ 's living room table. “Try a different search engine.”

 

“Nyuuuaaa.” Seated on the floor, Edward pulled her goggles down and pouted. “Ed tried them all.”

 

“Well … run them again. I didn't come streaking all the way back to Earth to pick you up for no reason. Now earn your passage back on here.”

 

Faye sauntered into the room and leaned on the back of the chair. “Ease up, old man. It's not like she can make it appear.”

 

“There must be something somewhere, Faye! And I am going to find it!” He slammed his fist on the table.

 

At the loud thud, Ein yelped and scrambled into Ed's lap, whining. “Awww! Poor Ein, come on let's hunt down something to eat!”

 

Jet stiffened as the pair darted off toward the fridge. “This is impossible.”

 

“You're right.” Faye's hand brushed his shoulder as he ducked away from it. “It is impossible. So maybe it's time we give this up. I mean, it has been over a year.”

 

“Fifteen months.” He muttered, his forehead rested in his hand. “You know I only came back to Earth because I thought Edward might be able to dig something up, anything. He can't have vanished!”

 

“Let him go, Jet.” Her voice dwindled to a tight whisper. “I think it's beyond time we face it … Spike's dead, or he would have wandered back here by now.” She turned and left the living room with her fist to her chest, a sniffle escaping.

 

The weight of her words crushed Jet. With both hands he held his head trying to bite back the urge to sob. They'd been partners for close to four years. How little he had known of Spike's bitter past. Every time he'd tried to trick an answer out of him, Spike slipped out of the trap. All he wanted to know now was why? Why had he thrown it all away? Images of the burning tower in the middle of Tharsis carved into his memory. The smoke visible from the _Bebop_ 's orbit. Smoke visible through the windows of _Bebop_ 's bridge where he had leaned on a crutch, powerless to stop his partner from his … suicide mission.

 

Laughing Bull's prediction echoed in his mind. _The moment a life is born, a star is born also. It becomes a guardian star. When a life has run out, the star too falls and disappears. His star is going to fall._

 

He clenched his fist.

 

The screen flashed.  _ “Jet?” _ Bob's hushed voice broke through. 

 

Jet didn't look up. Wearily he muttered, “What is it?”

 

“ _Keep your voice down! I'm on a transport and it's hard enough to find a place for a bit of privacy. I can't let the others know about this.”_

 

“Bob, if it's a bounty I'm really not in the mood.”

 

“ _You need to hear this. It's about your partner.”_

 

He slowly released his head and glanced at Bob's image in the screen. The walls of a bathroom surrounded him. The breath seized in Jet's chest. “Spike? Did you … did you find his grave?”

 

Bob shook his head.  _ “No, he's alive. At least for now. Listen, Spike's in serious trouble. And now I know why we couldn't find a trace of him.” _

 

All Jet comprehended was the first statement. “He's alive? Are you sure?”

 

“ _I saw him with my own eyes. Got a few words, not much … Jet, time is of the essence! I stumbled across him when making a prisoner transport.”_

 

“To where?” Jet leaned forward, gripping the table.

 

“ _Quidlivun Cavus.”_

 

“Pluto?”

 

Bob nodded sternly.  _ “His clock is ticking swiftly. There's a virus that pervades the convicts, Ice Fever. That's what takes the lives of most of them. I did some looking, median survival time is about eight months in lock-up out there. Your partner has already beaten the odds at nearly fourteen months of incarceration . He's still strong enough to get into trouble scrapping—for now.” _

 

“He's alive … ” whispering in awe, Jet dared to smile.

 

“ _Not for much longer he won't be. He's caught the damn thing and is already rasping with every breath. Jet, I know your partner is a capable fighter, but he's surrounded by the vilest the galaxy has to offer. As an ex-syndicate member and a bounty hunter, how long do you think he'll fare once he loses his edge?”_

 

“Wait! How did he get there? Incarcerated fourteen months ago? We searched for a record!”

 

“ _Yes, by his **name**. But they didn't file it with his name. The ISSP cut a corner, stripped the identity from the search and left it under his incarceration number. I suspect they worried about a backlash from the dregs of the Red Dragons.”_

 

“A threat that wandered off limping. Damn it! All this time? When was the trial?” He pointed to Ed's computer as she wandered over and plunked down cross-legged in front of it. “Edward, I need you to search for something … What's the number, Bob? Don't tell me you don't know!”

 

He sighed,  _ “Brace yourself, buddy. This is not something you wanted to see. Alright, 240594126.” _

 

Rocking back and forth, Ed punched in the numbers. “Eeeeechy go, eeechy search … and nyah! Ed found Mr. Spike person!”

 

Hastily, Jet grabbed the computer and turned it. The moment he glimpsed the mug shot, his jaw dropped. Clearly it had been taken while Spike was still in a coma in the hospital. “Holy … !”

 

“ _Jet … be careful how much you read. I know your temper.”_

 

Ignoring the warning, he dove into the file.

 

**Spike Spiegel ID 240594126**

** Height: ** 6' 1”  ** Birth date: ** June 26 th , 2044  ** Birthplace: ** Mars

** Hair: ** dark green  ** Eyes: ** brown, right synthetic  ** Tattoos/markings: ** numerous scars, see medical report

** Affiliations: ** Red Dragon Syndicate, ranking member, degree unknown

** Arrest record:  ** None prior to involvement in Red Dragon Syndicate coup, Tharsis city, 2071. Prior crimes linked to syndicate activity supported by evidence after arrest listed below. According to eyewitness reports perp opened fire with a shotgun near a convenience store leaving behind numerous bodies. Later that evening, perp proceeded to walk into the Red Dragon Syndicate tower on his own and indiscriminately assaulted personnel working his way up the floors. Various rounds from firearms were identified, with the perp's prints discovered on the firearms recovered. Grenades and C-4 were utilized, destabilizing the structure and leaving fragmented bodies in the wake. No witnesses were present for the altercation that razed the top of the tower. However, a few wounded members who survived bore witness to the perp limping halfway down the stairway before collapsing where ISSP later recovered his unconscious body. Medical reports indicated perp collapsed due to excessive blood loss from multiple gunshot wounds and a deep laceration across the left side of his abdomen. Amidst the debris on the top floor, a gunshot victim was found deceased grasping a katana, likely the cause of the latter injury. Perp was sent to Tharsis hospital under close guard and evidence processed. While perp remained sedated, evidence uncovered connections solving numerous murders during the years 2059-2068, see attached list. As well as various break ins. Perp is considered highly dangerous; skilled in firearms, explosives, and martial arts. Detained at hospital for two weeks, released under sedation as stable enough for direct transport to Quidlivun Cavus Prison Colony on Pluto for the remainder of his natural life. 

 

Jet shook with rage. “He never stood trial? This is an outrage!”

 

“ _You know he's guilty.”_

 

“Yes! But Spike had his reasons.”  _ Even if he never told me why. Damn you, Spike! Why did you have to go and do this, you lunkhead!  _ “If you ask me, we're better off without that syndicate.”

 

“ _People's lives were endangered by the partial collapse of the building. Face it, he was reckless … but I agree with you, the ISSP buried this and it wasn't justice to your partner. It doesn't matter. There isn't much you can do, save one thing. If you hurry—you might get a chance to speak to him before he dies.”_

 

Lowering his head, Jet heaved a sigh.

 

“ _Sorry, wish I had better news.”_

 

“So do I. Thanks … I owe you … ”

 

Bob tugged on his cap.  _ “Take care. See you when you get back?” _

 

Distantly, Jet nodded. The screen flicked out. He wasn't looking. Instead, he stared at the photos of Spike's unconscious body in the hospital bed. The wide gash on his side bound together but exposed for the official record. In his arm a red IV. How many pints of blood had it taken? At least one empty bag lay on the table.

 

“They bandaged you up and sent you to certain death without a chance.” His finger traced the screen.

 

Ed clung to the edge of the table with Ein at her side, his ears tilting. In a singsong voice Ed asked, “Are we gonna visit Mr. Lunkhead?”

 

“Lunkhead?” Faye wandered back into the room. “What is all the commo—” Her hand clamped on her mouth as she saw the photos, tears filled her wide eyes. “Oh God!”

 

Stiffly, Jet rose and walked toward the bridge. “I better get our heading entered. Good thing we stocked up. It's a month trip from Earth, even through the hypergates.”

 

“A month?” Faye forced herself from the computer screen. “There's not many places out that far? Where are we going?”

 

Ed picked up Ein and helicoptered the little dog. “Going to visit Lunkhead on Pluuuuutooo!”

 

“Wait a minute, did you say Pluto? There isn't anything on Pluto but … no!” She sat down and started to read the screen. The further she read, she folded her arms in front of her and buried her face. “Oh Spike, I told you not to go. Why didn't you listen?”

 


	3. Session 3

_ **Session 3** _

 

Heavy footfalls broke through Spike's frozen stupor. He cracked open his eyes. Every joint in his arms ached from the prolonged extension in the shackles. Not the first time he'd been subjected to this torment. In front of the row of prisoners Sergio, the dick of a senior guard who'd chased Bob off, tapped his shock stick with an expectant grin. A younger guard released the magnetic-locks on the prisoner to Spike's right, a hothead wannabe-bad-ass pathetically nicknamed Deathray. Spike would have put every woolong he'd earned bounty hunting that the guy's first name was actually Ray. During what must have been over two day's stint in the bite of the shackles all the punk's bravado had been eaten away. The moment his wrists were free he bent forward, hugging his arms to his body whimpering.

 

Sergio pointed the stick at the newly freed Deathray. “Hurts when the blood returns to your fingers, doesn't it.” He turned to the guard, nodding his head to the shived prisoner. “Dickhead here won't be any trouble. Unlock that one next.”

 

The guard knelt down. “Sir, he's … a stiff.”

 

“Precisely. Which means he _also_ won't be any trouble.” Sergio shifted a hostile glare down at Spike. “Don't think for a moment I've forgotten what you did the last time.”

 

Spike tried to laugh, it only ended in a wretched coughing fit. He braced himself against the sting of the frostbite marring his wrists. Like before, he shifted against the metal shackles in an effort to relieve the strain on his chest that hardly did his breathing any good. By the time he caught his breath, the younger guard knelt at his side with the key, trembling.

 

“Go ahead, release him.” Sergio ground his teeth. “If he tries anything he knows what happens.”

 

“Didn't stop me last time.” Spike relished Sergio's flinch. The thought occurred to him to try bull-rushing this prick's ass and give him an extended taste of that zap stick in his hands. But Spike's chest warned him, even if he could pull the same trick of overcoming his sleeping limbs, the recent onset of the lung inflammation had already compromised his reserves. The rules of the game had changed. The odds were stacked against getting more than one good physical shot in. As the first cuff released, Spike lowered his arm to the prickling rush. It took everything he had not to wince, to maintain the lazy-eyed glare up at Sergio. “Hey, did you enjoy your vacation in the infirmary?”

 

The guard froze in mid-motion, short of working the key into the other cuff's release. He stared wide eyed at Spike's free hand flexing in his lap. A bead of sweat dropped down the guard's forehead despite the freezing temps.

 

Sergio's eyes dilated, his hand darted to white-knuckle his left shoulder.

 

Savoring the moment of his discomfort, Spike grinned. “Did they manage to get that back into joint for yah?”

 

He snapped out of the shock, and tried to cover it by barking at the lackey. “You—hurry up. I don't have all day.”

 

Hastily the guard released the other cuff. The second he finished, he darted out of the range.

 

Spike flexed his hands, forcing the disquieting smile to remain even though he wanted nothing more than to grip his stinging hands. He refused to give that prick the satisfaction of glimpsing his own discomfort.

 

“Get up. Both of you.” Sergio held the shock stick in front of him. “Quick now.”

 

“It hurts!” Deathray wailed, still bent over.

 

Spike slid up the wall and crossed his arms, leaning there casually. “Is that right?”

 

The younger guard shot glances back and forth between the two before Sergio backhanded him, shouting, “Get a hold of yourself. He's playing you. Trust me, he feels it. He's just been through it enough to  ** act ** like it doesn't effect him. Get that piece of shit on his feet!” Sergio kept the stick between himself and Spike.

 

Dragged to his feet, Deathray hunched over, tears welling in his eyes. Spike smirked.  _ Yup, real bad-ass can't even take his medicine. That'll be the last time he picks a fight over rations. _

 

“Pick that up.” Sergio nodded at the corpse. “You two killed him, you get disposal duty.”

 

“Disposal duty?” Deathray blanched. “What the heck are you talking about?”

 

Reaching down, Spike grabbed the blue corpse's shoulders. “You'll be glad you haven't eaten.”

 

Shoved by the other guard, Deathray took the ankles and staggered under the stiff load. The entire time he muttered and whined about the needles of pain. Spike remained silent, save for a few rogue coughs. They paraded the corpse through the icicle clad corridors, the eyes of prisoners locked down in their claustrophobic cells followed the progress. Whispers followed.

 

Reaching the depths of the sprawling prison, Sergio stepped on a pedal set in the floor. A large chute yawned open, followed by the rumble of a machine starting up. Deathray flushed as the series of raking teeth rotated up out of the depths of the pit. “What the—”

 

“Did you think they buried the dead?” Spike remarked wryly. “Come on, just give him a good heave and be done with it.”

 

They tossed the stiff body into the chute. The mechanical teeth caught and chewed its meal. Deathray bent over and heaved his guts, mixing it in with the grinding meat.

 

Rolling his eyes, Spike folded his arms. “That wasn't what I meant.”

 

Covering his nose, Sergio gestured to Deathray. “Get him back to his cell. We're on new-arrival lock down until the warden gives his welcome speech.” The moment the younger guard moved out of earshot, Sergio grabbed Spike by the collar and threw him face first against the wall. “I knew you were bluffing! Tough to fight when you can hardly breathe, huh asshole? I should bust your shoulder into a hundred shards and see if you keep laughing!”

 

Spike would have answered, but the wracking coughing fit stole his breath. Forced into silence, he endured the elbow pressing against his shoulder.

 

“Well, the joke's on you, Asshole. Cause I don't even have to. With a new shipment of future corpses, you know what that means, don't you?”

 

The crackle of electricity filled the air as Sergio hit the trigger on the shock stick, letting Spike see it out of the corner of his eyes. Spike steeled himself, but the shock didn't come.

 

Instead, Sergio laughed. “It means the warden needs a volunteer for a demonstration. Guess who I have in mind? Don't worry, I'll pick out a nice new friend for you to play with.”

 

The moment he released the pressure, Spike spun and brought his arms up into a defensive posture. Sergio leapt back, the fear flared in his eyes before he mastered it. “Coward!” Spike rasped. “If you didn't want to get your ass handed to you, you shouldn't have asked for it.”

 

“I could take you in a heartbeat.” He snapped. “But the only form of entertainment out here is watching the lowlifes take shots at one another's throats. And then,” his smile grew more sadistic, “punishing them for doing it.”

 

Spike shook his head. “There's something seriously wrong with you.”

 

“Now, hands on your head.” When Spike remained motionless he pressed the trigger, the length of metal sprang to life. “I said, hands on your head or you're not going to like me.”

 

“We're hardly pals.” With a sigh, Spike laced his fingers in his matted hair. Keeping his head held high, he allowed Sergio to parade him back to his cell on the second floor. The moment Spike entered the glorified closet with nothing but a hard bunk and a frost-stiff blanket, Sergio slammed the barred door shut.

 

“Alright Warden. All in.” Sergio called out over the railing before wandering off.

 

Spike leaned forward against the bars. His elbows rested on the cross-brace, his hands hung limp outside the confinement. He wasn't alone. Countless prisoners who had been scraping by against the brutal odds clung to their own doors, knowing how brief the lock down would last. Knowing what would follow, despite the promise of words. The newer arrivals were easy to spot, thrashing against the bars and screaming.

 

In the middle of the large cylindrical prison tower, the warden reminded Spike of a walrus as he lumbered up to the microphone. “Inmates of Quidlivun Cavus Prison Colony, the most disreputable scum of the galaxy.”

 

Spike rolled his eyes at the gravelly voice.  _ Least he could do is come up with a new insult, I mean what else does that lump of lard do here? _

 

“With the recent arrivals from Mars it's a good time to remind everyone of the rules here. Your safe incarceration is first and foremost our concern.”

 

Spike shut his eyes and pushed off from the bars, shuffling to the bunk he flopped down on the unyielding surface and cradled his head in the crook of one arm. He winced and shifted the arm to relieve the pressure on his raw wrists.  _ How many times is he going to spit that shit out thinking anybody buys it? Life sentence, my ass! This is nothing but a frozen death row. _

 

“Fighting is strictly prohibited. Participating inmates will be punished accordingly … ”

 

_Or subjected to whatever sadistic idea pops into the guard's heads at the time, because, you know, they're power-tripping little cowards with human cattle prods._

 

“You will be provided with the basic human necessities … ”

 

_Food, when we feel a rare tug of emotion on our cold, dead hearts. A single garment that keeps your flesh from freezing to prolong your suffering, because death by frostbite is too far swift and un-amusing. Privacy, safety, dignity, cleanliness, medical treatment … throw those out the air-lock, cause to get actual human necessities you need to be considered actually human. Guess what you're not anymore the moment you entered this place?_

 

Spike shut his eyes, weary of the same scathing inner dialogue he'd gone through for time unknown to him. The door to his cell was locked. Briefly he was isolated, safe. Taking as deep a breath as he could muster, he relaxed his iron grip on the hair-triggered instincts, the only means for his survival in this cesspit. Exhaustion dragged him down into a dreamless sleep. The only sense that remained primed—his hearing, vigilant for the release of the lock when the near-constant threat on his life would resume.

 


	4. Session 4

_ **Session 4** _

 

Spike leaned an elbow on the walkway rail and heaved a sigh, watching the puff of condensation ghost in the air. His fingers drummed incessantly on his bent knee as he fought to suppress the relentless itch. How long had it been since that puff was cigarette smoke? But out here in this frozen pit there was only one possibility of getting any relief from his practically lifelong addiction. He had yet to find a guard willing to part with even one. Of course they wouldn't. What could he possibly offer them in return? Not only that irritation persisted, he couldn't recall the last time he'd had a decent meal.

 

_ No wait … the Bebop … Jet. _ He shut his eyes tight fighting to banish that memory, now tinged with grave regret.

 

The crackle in his lungs intensified. Spike gripped the railing as the surge of pain stole his breath.  _ Damn it! Don't … please don't! _ His fingers clenched his side, putting pressure on the pulled muscles between his ribs. Every day the wracking cough grew worse. Or at least what he assumed was a day, in a building without windows it was hard to know. Somehow he managed to suppress the fit despite each gasp of stinging air.

 

A shadow fell beside him, infiltrating his perch on the second floor open walkway. Spike glimpsed the insulated boots of one of the guards. That's right, they had switched watches earlier. Some of them got to leave this shithole for a while, only to come back bragging about time in decent warmth. Half-hooding his eyes he remained silent, not in any mood to court another stint in shackles. He'd been forced to wrap his wrists with strips ripped from the blanket to protect the batch of frostbite blisters from a few days ago.

 

The guard tapped the railing. “So … did you really do it?”

 

Spike stole a sideways glance.  _ Yup, newer kid. Looks like a hotshot. He'll be whining about the cold soon.  _ “Do what?” He rasped, a single cough escaped him. With a wince, Spike rationed his breathing.

 

“You know … they said you took on a whole syndicate in Tharsis. Leveled the place commando style. Left a trail of bodies all the way to the top floor. Hell, blew that top floor to bits. A real massacre.”

 

With a rude snort, Spike shrugged. “Maybe. Why are you amused by that?”

 

The guard crouched down, peering at him with a wide grin. “Come on, a one man tactical assault like that? The Red Dragons had great security.”

 

“Key word being  _ had _ .” Spike muttered. Crossing his arms he rested his chin on them, at least a bit of warmth instead of frost covered railing. 

 

“But … I heard  _ you _ were a Red Dragon. Why would you go after your own syndicate?”

 

“Why not?” Spike shut his eyes. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

 

The silence stretched overlong, the guard nudged him. Spike opened his eyes with an irritated glare as he asked, “I mean, that's about the worst thing a guy can do, you know, betray his comrades.”

 

“If  _ that _ had been the case I hardly would have gone through and executed them, don't you think? Tsh. The sad thing is I did a huge public service offin' those bastards before they took power. And what did it earn me?” He flicked a hand to the prison. “A one way ticket to an icicle pit.” A wracking coughing fit doubled him over. More than a few minutes elapsed before he lay back, gasping for air. One hand clamped on the pulled muscles. 

 

The guard shook his head. “Well … you know … you did get involved in the first place. Maybe if you hadn't—”

 

“A little late for that advice now, kiddo. How about you go do your job and leave me alone? This place is a pain as it is without my ire earning me a worse position than trying to sleep in my ice box of a cell waiting for some schmuck to have a go at my back.”

 

He shrugged and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. The scent of burning tobacco filled the air as the guard sauntered away.

 

Spike clenched a fist and turned his head away, whimpering, “I would seriously kill for that!”

 

*

 

Meredith Amberclad stormed out of the building onto the brightly lit Ganymede sidewalk. A modeling audition poster fluttered off the wall, circling in the breeze before her spiked heel crushed it.

 

“Why that demonic little hussy! Hope you choke on him!” Meredith's hair never broke its perfectly curled ringlets, cemented into place with enough spray to defy gravity. Tears streaked her blushed cheeks with diluted mascara. She practically tore the stole off her neck. “What does she got that I don't! Nothin' that's for sure.”

 

Out of another door, a primped up doll waddled at the side of a smartly clad gentleman. His eyes never left her perky rack bobbing up and down in her plastic-wrap dress.

 

Meredith pouted. “Tell yah what she's got. Enough of a gold-digger's touch to afford enhancement surgeries. Damn it! I'll never score a model gig with her sculpted ass around here.”

 

“Excuse me.”

 

She turned so fast her heels nearly dumped her onto the pavement. Her eyes fell on a tall man dressed in pale slacks with a pastel polo shirt clinging to his toned body. Over his shoulders he had tied a white sweater. Trim brown hair lay neatly combed back. This man could have taken the Mr. July slot in any calendar, with or without a shirt.

 

He took a few steps towards her, his eyes roving up and down her whole body, taking in her full package. “I couldn't help but note what a lovely woman you are. Such a shame to see you in distress. Whatever is the matter?”

 

Swiftly, Meredith tried to rub the tears from her face, only smearing the make-up more. She sniffled.

 

Without a word he took out a handkerchief and offered it to her. Once she finished cleaning up her face, he placed an arm over her shoulder. “Why don't you come with me, sweetie. Let me treat you to a cup of coffee and you can tell me all about it.”

 

“Thank you.” She nestled into the comforting embrace. “Gentlemen are so difficult to find these days. Even my husband—”

 

Instantly he withdrew his hand to his chest. “Oh my dear. I certainly didn't mean to intrude. I assumed … ”

 

“Oh.” She blushed and drew a stray curl back behind her ear. “It's ok. He doesn't know I'm here anyway. He thinks I went to interview for a _real_ job.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the building. “He doesn't think I have what it takes to be one of _those_ girls.” Her fingers ground into her stole. “Traitorous sluts with perfect bodies! One of these days I'll show them. I'll afford a real drop dead body.”

 

He nodded, rubbing his chin with a knuckle. “Spin for me.”

 

Meredith's jaw slackened for a moment at the odd request. Slowly she turned around, eyeing him over her shoulder.

 

“No no. Swiftly. Show me your attitude.”

 

With a little flare, Meredith thrust out one hip and spun on the ball of her foot.

 

He ran a finger under her chin. “You, my dear, are an overlooked creature of pure beauty when you are not pouting over the achievements of others. My my, but we can fix that.”

 

She cocked her head, the curls bounced into place. “You can? Are you an agent?”

 

He took her hand in his, leaning down to kiss it. “I can take you out of this world, sweetheart. If you're willing to try, I have a connection to a man who is scouting for a specific role you are simply perfect for. He would be most willing to help you reach your full potential.”

 

Heat rose to her face as she stared down at his hand embracing hers. A small tattoo on the underside of his wrist caught her attention. A little bird perched on a mushroom. She giggled and pulled up the hem of her skirt revealing a butterfly on her hip. “Did you get yours in college too?”

 

He flushed and glanced away.

 

Instantly she regretted the gesture and flattened her short skirt down, looking to the ground. “I'm sorry. That was rude of me. I guess … I'll be going now.”

 

“Oh no, please don't get me wrong. I can still help you, if you wish.” He extended his elbow and waited for her to take it. The moment she locked arms with him, the warm smile returned. “Right this way. I hope you like small cruise ships. We can travel in comfort.”

 

“Where are we going?” Meredith smiled.

 

“To a wonderful place.”

 

 


	5. Session 5

_ **Session 5** _

 

The constant stream of starlight whipped past the bow. Jet reclined in the navigation chair chewing on a fingernail. Only a week had passed since Bob had called him. With the _Bebop_ sliding through the hypergates at full speed, he remained powerless to do anything more until they arrived at Pluto.

 

Ein's tag clinked as he padded around the bridge, snuffling everything. He paused and cocked his head up at Jet.

 

“What do you want?” He replied without interest.

 

In response, Ein scrambled up into his lap and woofed softly.

 

Forcing a smile, Jet tussled Ein's big ears until the corgi groaned. “Yeah, I missed you too. If only we could figure out a way to get **everyone** back … I know, you and Spike weren't the best of friends.”

 

A rumble grew in Ein's throat.

 

“I can't argue with you, boy. He could be a real pain in the ass sometimes.” Jet stroked the corgi's back until Ein rolled onto his back for a belly rub. “Even still … I never realized how much life Spike brought to this place. You know me, I'm not all that sentimental, but I kinda miss his obnoxious laugh.”

 

He paused and blinked. “And … I'm talking to a dog.”

 

Ein yipped and nuzzled his hand.

 

“Awwww, you don't mind, do yah. This'll be our little secret.” His hand massaged the little dog's belly as he leaned back and watched the stars wiz by, willing the time to pass quicker.

 

*

 

“Please! I don't belong here. Let me go back home!” One of the more recent arrivals whined, clinging to the inner barrier doors.

 

Tuning out the pointless cries, Spike leaned back against the wall melting a chuck of ice between his fingers into the semblance of a 9mm bullet form for no other reason than something to do. Tensions flared all around. As usual, some of the healthier influx of inmates paced the railings sizing up others. A brawl was long overdue, as well as Sergio's promise. Course it didn't help that it had been far too long between meals. Something Spike suspected was planned by the guards to trigger the regular _demonstration_. Hunger always drove the newer batches to irritation quicker. The longer term inmates knew the price of a riot, especially in the presence of arrivals. Not that it stopped participation.

 

A thug with a tiger tattoo on his face smacked his fist into a palm, one of the lot that Bob had brought in. Spike stole a glance and recognized him immediately. Trevor Dade, a White Tiger bounty head he'd cashed in on. Probably caused too much trouble in a regular joint and got deported here, common enough. Oh, this could get bad quickly, especially since a muscular goon flanked him.

 

“Rumor is you're the top-dog in this joint. I want a shot at the title.” Trevor grinned hungrily. “Wait a minute, I know you. You're the shithead who got the drop on me.”

 

 _Thanks Sergio, that's such a nice rumor to spread._ Lazily, Spike turned the ice bullet in his hand. “Yeah, well who's fault was that?”

 

“Yours.” Raising his voice, Trevor turned to the inmates gathering around the excitement. He bit off each word. “Bounty. Hunter.”

 

Spike tensed. _Oh … don't remind everyone of that—e_ yes narrowed in hostility all around— _too late._

Slowly, Spike rose to his feet taking care not to aggravate his already burning lungs. A coughing fit right now would leave him at their vengeful mercy. He put up a disinterested front. “I hardly remember you, nothing but a small fry.”

 

“Small fry, huh?” Flexing his muscles, Trevor grinned. “Let's dangle you from a hook and see what you catch.”

 

“I wouldn't suggest it.” Spike shrugged at the guards spaced out against the walls. “Unless you want a taste of blue lightning to send you on your asses.”

 

“I'm not afraid of their little sticks.”

 

“Suit yourself.” Spike leaned back, noting the determination in Trevor's eyes. “But I'm warning you, this isn't going to end with you earning any friends.”

 

“I'm not here to make friends.” Trevor lunged forward, along with his rather hefty guy.

 

Ducking under Trevor's grasp, Spike slipped off to the side. He lifted the thick icicle he'd been palming at his side and plunged it into the meaty guy's neck. That ended his back-up's involvement as he concentrated on trying to stop the bleeding. On Spike's follow through, he elbowed Trevor in the back, driving him into the bars of an open door. He didn't dare make a run for it. The moment he pushed his compromised lungs he would hit the deck in a wheezing train-wreck. He wished he'd grabbed more than one ice-shive, but wishes weren't weapons. So all that remained in his arsenal was a round of drunken master style evasions to the cheers of the captive audience.

 

“Stand still!”

 

“What? Like you?” Spike ducked under a wide swing and delivered a shot to Trevor's gut. He was about to go for another strike when out of the corner of his eyes Spike spied a guard darting for a large switch on the wall. “Heh, told yah!” Changing tactics, Spike used Trevor's shoulders as a spring board, grabbing at the underside of the walkway. He hung there like a monkey.

 

“Get back he—aaaahhhhhh!” The entire floor became alive with current. The guards all protected by their insulated boots while every prisoner dropped like a rock to the deck.

 

All save the madly-grinning Spike, still hanging by his fingers. “Well, that was highly effective.”

 

“Really?” Sergio smirked, tapping the shock stick against his hand.

 

Spike swallowed, twisting from his grasp to steal a glance over his left shoulder. “Heh … easy now … not the left—not the left! Oh shit!”

 

Sergio pressed the trigger. The savage little device lit up bright blue. Swinging like a baseball bat, Sergio slammed it into Spike's left side contacting directly below the ribs. Spike jerked with a rasped cry as his entire body convulsed, every muscle contracting. When the current withdrew his fingers lost their hold. He fell into a twitching heap with a grunt. Sergio huffed a laugh. “Thought you were being clever, didn't yah?”

 

“You enjoyed … that way … too much … ” Spike panted, coughing before he could finish, “ … sadist.”

 

He bent down and chuckled. “I have the best job. Now, you just wait here a moment while I prepare your present for you.”

 

_Another matching set of shackles? Greeeeeeeeeeeat._

 

Staring at the frosty deck, Spike couldn't help but ponder Trevor's fate once the other inmates recovered from that shock. More than one bad-ass got torn a new one for triggering the riot control. Just like the icicle sticking out of his pal, not all the ice in the prison was blue.

 

*

 

At a leisurely stroll, Sergio wandered toward the distant commotion. A week and a half had passed since the demonstration, so it hardly surprised him that there had been a string of altercations. The smack of fists driving the wind out of something akin to a wounded animal brought a grin to his face. He flipped the handle of the shock stick in his hand, whistling a merry tune.

 

Prisoners gathered in a wild knot on the second floor walkway. Grunts and cheers intermingled with the typical coughing fits. There were several involved in this savage beat down. A series of meat-pounding blows rained down too swift to be from just one.

 

Laughter broke out. “Let him go. I wanna see him try to run again!”

 

A moment later the metal grates rattled under the impact of a body. A sharp gasp for breath cut off in a choking coughing fit. Sergio couldn't see who the victim was through the crowd of inmates and guards. But he was in no real hurry to intervene.

 

“Haha! Look at that! Can't even crawl.” The bass thud of a kick to the gut triggered a fresh wave of laughter. “How does it feel, bounty hunter!”

 

Sergio perked up. Had he heard that right? At his approach, the crowd parted, their eyes darting away as they shrank back from the senior guard. The figure lying on the blood smeared grating surprised him. None other than the shithead who had dislocated his shoulder finally getting his long overdue comeuppance. So, the Ice Fever had finally crippled him enough he couldn't escape the wrath of his fellow inmates. Sergio folded his arms and watched as the heavy weight with the ice shive scar on his neck slammed his fists down on the prisoner.

 

All of them were degenerates not worth learning their names. As far as Sergio was concerned, the green-haired prick who had managed to jump and injure him was Asshole.

 

Heavy-weight backed off, huffing clouds of breath as he grinned down.

 

With every wheeze, Asshole shuddered, no longer offering that cocky ass smile. That expression replaced by a panicked grimace as he clawed at the deck with bandaged hands. Every time he tried to push up from the grate his trembling elbows gave out and dumped him onto his left side with a yelp.

 

Heavy-weight leaned down and grabbed his collar, twisting Asshole to face him. His head flopped back, teeth gritted with each strained inhale. Spitting into his face, Heavy-weight snarled, “It's your fault the boss is in here dying.”

 

“Well— ” his response was cut off by a coughing fit. At last he found enough of his hoarse voice for a reply, “I'm not doing … so well … myself.”

 

“Heh.” Heavy-weight pulled him up higher before opening his hand and watching gravity deliver a punishing blow, driving Asshole back to the grate in a limp fall. Unlike the previous fights, he didn't get back up. He lay there, moaning.

 

“Alright.” Sergio snicked on the switch. The shock stick glowed bright blue. Heavy-weight's eyes widened, he immediately busted through the crowd. Pointing at a couple of guards, Sergio shouted, “Get him! And any other who threw a punch!”

 

The crowd scattered in a panic. Not surprising. Once the prisoners spent a stint in the shackles they often became skittish at being seized.

 

Knelling down, Sergio turned the shock stick's power off and laughed into Asshole's slack face. “Well, ain't you a pretty sight now. All dressed up and no place to go, eh? Don't worry I have a reservation for you.”

 

“ … please … ” The voice was more crackle than word. Beneath the bloodstained jumpsuit his chest practically collapsed with each pathetic breath. His eyes hardly able to hold any focus.

 

“Please what?” Sergio relished the sight. “Give you what you deserve, you stinking animal? Sure. I can do that.”

 

Asshole pulled his trembling arms under him. The bandaged hands pressed against the floor for only a second before he winced and hugged them to his body.

 

“Oh, how I have been waiting for this day.” Sergio patted his shoulder hard enough to witness a flinch. “To see your cocky ass reduced to ground beef. To hear even an attempt to play upon my sympathy. Nice try. But it won't work. I haven't forgotten about what you did to me.”

 

“ … self defense … ” Came the reply accompanied by a whistling exhale. He winced tighter with the next inhale, shivering. “ … you were … ” his voice gave out in a strained rasp, but he pointed at the stick.

 

“Save it for someone who gives a shit. I'd give you another dose of your medicine, but I think Heavy-weight already did a bang up job.” Sergio grabbed his wrist and started to drag him across the deck. “This time I'm going to watch and savor every last minute of your stint in the shackles. Don't worry. I won't let you die. I'll unlock you before you can suffocate. I mean to let these bastards get the last shot at you. You're not going to just fall asleep peacefully.” Sergio savored the lack of resistance, it stirred a sense of power in him as he pulled a once powerful creature at his nonexistent mercy.

 

 


	6. Session 6

_ **Session 6** _

 

Gliding into orbit around the small dwarf planet, the _Bebop_ hovered above the icy-scape. Jet adjusted the tie of his dress suit and leaned over the console nervously. “Come on! Give me clearance, already. Everything _has_ to be in order. I double-checked.”

 

Faye paced on the bridge. “I'm going with you.”

 

“Absolutely not. You and Ed are to stay here and keep the engines running. I don't plan on hanging around here any longer than necessary.” He glanced at Ed splayed on the floor with her feet kicking in the air.

 

She flashed him a wide grin and gave him two thumbs up. “Heeeee!”

 

“Jet—” Faye stomped her foot.

 

“I said no, and that's final!” The screen flashed and the bay opened on the surface below. “I'm taking the _Hammerhead_. I'll be back shortly.”

 

From his seat in the old catcher boat, Jet flicked through the startup sequence. In the circular doorway as it rolled closed, he spied Faye lingering there with her hands clasped to her chest. Determined, he opened the _Bebop_ 's hanger and hovered out. He released the mag-lock and launched for the landing pad of Quidlivun Cavus on a wing and prayer.

 

_It's been a month, let him still be alive!_

 

*

 

Seated behind the desk, the warden leaned over the screen narrowing his eyes and grunting. The toasty warm office was in direct contrast to the rest of the halls Jet had passed through to get here. Now, he impatiently awaited more than a chastising glare from the overlord of this place.

 

At long last, he locked eyes with Jet. “Well Agent Black, it seems this is regretfully authentic.” With a snap of his fingers he released a couple of guards.

 

It took all of Jet's willpower to maintain the stern expression on his face. _Bang up job, Ed!_

 

An eons worth of strained silence passed in the cozy haven before the door opened. Two guards dragged a languishing prisoner along the floor. With his head hanging down, Spike feebly thrashed in their grip but under their momentum he didn't have a chance of breaking loose. The conditions of his incarceration had hollowed out the spaces between the bones allowing outlines to show on his face. Rags wrapped around Spike's palms up to his wrists. Every stinted breath whistled.

 

One of the guards snapped, “Sorry it took us so long, Warden. We had to track his collar signal to find the hole the bastard wedged himself in. He didn't want to come out.” The other guard winced, favoring one leg.

 

The warden roughly seized the collar around Spike's neck, practically choking him. “You have been a royal pain in my ass since you arrived here! I kept dreaming of the moment you would piss off the wrong inmate and get pounded into the deck.”

 

“Sorry … to … disappoint … you … ” Spike's hoarse whisper only managed one word between each gasp.

 

“I'm not sorry to be rid of your stinking carcass.” The warden rammed the key into the lock, the collar sprung loose and clattered onto the floor. A ring of raw skin marred Spike's neck down to the collar bone where the device had rode for over a year. “Although I also have to admit I wished you'd been ambitious enough to break into the launch bay and gotten a taste of that poison. That really doesn't happen often enough.”

 

The guards let go. Spike plummeted into a heap. Shaking, he struggled to climb to his feet. Jet reached down to help him, but he shrugged it off, not looking up at all. “Can … walk … on my—” A violent coughing fit obliterated his words, pitching him back on his knees to claw at his ribs. With his eyes clamped shut, he arched his head back, gasping for air.

 

Wordlessly, Jet worked his shoulder under Spike's arm and levered him up. In a staggering gait, Spike barely limped at his side. His chest vibrated with every breath. A sour odor clung to him like a miasma. Not surprising, as Jet couldn't imagine a functioning shower in this frigid place. Beneath the filthy thermal jumpsuit Jet's fingers discovered a thin layer of muscle over Spike's ribs, probably the strongest muscles he had left. Logical considering how much he labored for each breath. The corridors seemed too long. Each door shrieked open too slowly. Jet patted Spike's hand before the last one. “Nearly there, buddy.”

 

Spike's dull eyes blinked, “ ... Jet? … what are … ” again his words dissolved into a hacking cough. In a sudden jolt Jet took all of Spike's meager weight as the fit knocked his trembling knees out.

 

“Later. Come on. Sorry about the tight fit in the _Hammerhead_.” Easing Spike into a space behind the pilot seat. For a moment Jet appreciated how thin his partner was. But only a moment. He hopped in and hastily fired it back up. “There's a blanket back there for you. The _Bebop_ 's in a low orbit. So this won't take long.”

 

He glanced over his shoulder. Spike huddled under the blanket, shivering and wheezing. His eyes shut, creased at the corners. The only color breaking his sickly gray complexion were the dark circles beneath his eyes. But even through the discomfort, there was a vague sense of relief. “Hang on, buddy. Almost back home.”

 


	7. Session 7

_ **Session 7** _

 

Across the ship's storage bay, hanging off Jet's arm, Spike's emaciated frame barely supported itself. He didn't even attempt to look up, it was painfully obvious he lacked the strength to spare. In the brighter light of the _Bebop_ the hollows carved into his scant flesh cast shadows. Sweat dripped from his forehead caking the overgrowth of hair cascading over his shoulders and the thing that looked the strangest in Jet, a scraggly beard. “Spike, you're feverish.”

 

“Yeah … ” he wheezed, the breath barely made it out and back in again. “What do you … think kept me … from dying … of hypothermia?”

 

The gallows humor filled Jet with dread. But for Spike's benefit, he refused to let him see it. Cheerily he suggested, “First things first. A hot shower. Then I'll make a nice hearty meal. How does that sound?”

 

Spike's eyes closed, the shadow of a blissful smile crossed his features. “Hot water? … Too long … ”

 

Jet left him in the shower room only long enough to launch the _Bebop_ on route back through the hypergates and grab some clean clothing from Spike's old room. Sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of his typical suit. He waited outside the room's cocked door listening for the odd splashes, assurance that Spike hadn't collapsed. He had insisted, clinging to the wall but standing with the declaration, he would manage on this own if it was last thing he did. The desperation in his eyes to reclaim some sense of his battered pride gutted Jet.

 

Faye wandered past and glared. “He better not run out the tank.”

 

“Relax. It doesn't take long for another tank to heat up. Besides, he really needs it.” Jet crossed his arms and glared at her.

 

She planted her hands on her hips. “Five minutes he's back and already hogging the bathroom! That fuzzhead doesn't have any respect for anyone else.”

 

“And you do? I think you forget this is **my** ship, Faye. Not yours. He can run the water until it's ice cold, but I highly doubt under the circumstances that will happen.”

 

She rolled her eyes and stormed into her room.

 

Jet leaned against the wall and waited. The squeak of the water shutting off caught his attention. Several minutes passed before the door opened with Spike clinging to it, the dry rags back on his hands. On both the left side of his neck and his left forearm the scan code tattoos marking him as a lifer in prison stood out in black bars against his pale skin. He'd trimmed his dripping hair a bit and somehow managed to shave off the beard without gashing his face. His old clothing hung loose. Using his toe he nudged the prison jumpsuit on the floor. “Do me … a favor … burn this … or whatever … ” Without protesting, he let Jet take most of his weight, leading him down to the living room. “Hey Jet … I think I … might have dulled … your razor.”

 

Jet chuckled as they took the stairs one at a time. “Don't worry. It was an old razor. I can replace that easier than a partner.” Levering Spike down onto the couch, he pulled a blanket over him. Spike's eyes were already shutting. “You just get some rest. I'll wake you when breakfast is ready.”

 

The moment his eyes shut completely, Jet's smile faded. Spike's breathing rattled, punctuated by sporadic coughs. Under the blanket, he writhed. The fever had indeed taken a savage hold. Not dangerously high, but enough that Spike's rest remained compromised. A ghost of his formal self, there wasn't much left in him to fight with.

 

The knowledge that this was far from the first time Spike had been thrashed remained little comfort. Not since damn near scrapping him up off the Tharsis cathedral steps had Jet seriously worried. Then Spike managed to recover from multiple broken bones after the plummet through the spire's stained-glass window. But, that time had one marked difference. Spike had his uncanny good health on his side. He hadn't been fighting a lethal virus against the odds. The tide had turned, violently.

 

Gritting his teeth, Jet growled. “Not like this. I'm not going to let it end like this!”

 

Spike coughed hoarsely. He shifted his head with a moan.

 

Jet pulled the tie from his neck and bowed his head. “I wish we'd found you sooner, pal.” He drifted off to change out of the suit essential for the ruse to work. Thankfully, it had.

 

*

 

Faye stuck her head out of her room. She sniffed the air. Bell peppers and beef, Jet must be cooking. “Jet? Is something wrong with the ship? Sounds like a valve blew.” Entering the living room she spied Ed sitting cross-legged with Ein in her lap. Both stared across at the yellow couch.

 

“Hey, have you seen Jet? The ship sounds terrible.” Faye glanced back toward the kitchen.

 

Ed shook her head. “Not _Bebop Bebop_. Fuzzhead wheezy breezy. Honk honk like a geese-y.”

 

“Fuzzhead?” Faye brought a finger to her lips in thought. “Spike?” She tiptoed up to the couch and peered over at the feverish man sprawled beneath the blanket. As his chest rose and fell a struggling rasp accompanied it. The sound reminded Faye of the time _Redtail_ 's threw a rod and her ship ground gears with each turn of the key. Gaunt and pale, Spike lie there shivering despite the sheen of sweat.

 

“It worked.” She whispered, her hand hovering over him, inches from contact. Prior to actually seeing him it had been impossible to believe. “That ridiculous plan worked!”

 

Ed slithered up and smiled. “Course it worked. Ed found it. Warden not a smart man. Not as smart as Ein. It was his idea.” The corgi barked and wriggled in response.

 

Jet slipped into the room and held up a hand. “Leave him. He's exhausted, needs a few hours of good sleep.”

 

The reminder was for naught. Wrenched onto his side, Spike's body spasmed as he coughed hard enough to choke. Faye caught him before he could topple off the couch and held him there. “Easy. Try and catch your breath.”

 

With a moan, Spike curled into a ball on his right side, grasping his ribs for all he was worth.

 

“Jet, this is serious. He needs a doctor.” Faye demanded over her shoulder.

 

“There isn't one. We're too far out. The only option would be going back to Pluto. There's no help to be found there. He's out of the cold now, with that his breathing should improve. Nothing more we can do for him.” He wrinkled his brow. “Unless … maybe we can break that fever. Hold on.” From behind the small fridge he pulled out Spike's hidden bottle of high proof whiskey. “Good, it's still here.”

 

Eyeing the alcohol, Faye almost pounded the couch before remembering that Spike was there. “This is no time for a celebratory toast! He needs real medicine.”

 

“This will be.” Jet held up the bottle. “My grandmother used to mix this up … oh never mind. I'll be right back.” He dashed toward the kitchen.

 

Carefully, Faye pushed Spike away from the edge of the couch. His fever-bright eyes snapped open, straining to focus. Faye caught his arm as he thrashed and tried to twist away. Frightening little resistance in her hand. “Spike, please stop. You're safe now. No one is trying to hurt you. You need to ration your strength.”

 

Exhaustion more than anything dropped his arm across his chest. His eyes clenched tight as they shut.

 

Faye rested the back of her hand against his burning forehead. “Edward.”

 

“Nyaahh?” Ed clung to the arm of the couch.

 

“Do me a favor. Fetch me a small towel, soak it in cold water.”

 

“Yessss.” Making sounds like an airplane, Ed swooped out of the room to return a minute later with the sopping wet towel. “Faye Faye! Towel, Faye Faye!”

 

She took it without remarking to the child's cheery banter. Spreading it across his brow, Faye noted some of the tension relaxed in his face. She rested a hand on his shoulder and whispered. “You said you were going to see if you'd lived … damn it, Spike! Now you have to. Don't you dare give up. I'll never forgive you if you die.”

 

There was no answer aside from his rasped breathing.

 

Ed giggled. “Faye has a crush on Spike like the kissy novels. Mwah mwah! Hehe.”

 

“I do not!” She bristled, heat rising to her cheeks.

 

Jet tromped back in, grasped in his cybernetic hand a glass filled with steaming amber fluid. “Move out of the way. This should do the trick.”

 

“What _is_ that?” She wrinkled her nose.

 

He didn't answer, instead he reached under Spike's head and lifted it up. Spike's eyes cracked open accompanied by a feeble cough. Jet held the glass up. “Drink up, buddy. This will help.”

 

Spike's trembling fingers tried to reach for the glass. They slipped on the surface.

 

“I got it.” Jet forced a smile. “All you have to do is swallow.” He held it to Spike's lips as he took an experimental gulp, followed by a grimace. “Yeah, I know, tastes a bit like turpentine mixed with formaldehyde, but trust me. By the time you wake back up it will have lit a fire back in you.”

 

“Wake back up?” Faye leaned forward. “What's in that?”

 

As Spike choked down the last of it, his glazed eyes fluttered closed. Within a minute the shivering ceased and he lay slack against the couch. Jet set the glass aside. “Well that's telling. I've been drinking with him before. He's hardly a light-weight. But that concoction was enough to drag him under. All the way under.”

 

She blanched. “Jet—you're giving him a **hangover**?”

 

“No. He'll sleep it all off. That was always Grandma's remedy. There's a few things in there that should ease the inflammation of his lungs. But he seriously needs to rest. I doubt that he's gotten more than a few minutes of sleep in the last week or so. Hopefully that fever will break in the meantime.”

 


	8. Session 8

_ **Session 8** _

 

Spike cracked his right eye open. In a steady rise and fall, his rag-bandaged hand appeared and vanished from his line of sight. Everything, from head to toe ached. The most plaguing of all was the damned tight rattle in his chest. But still, he breathed. Warm air, not like that wretched ice box of a prison. The metallic scent of the rust between the plates drifted back to him. The steady rumble of the engines with that tell-tale low whine reassured him. Above the ceiling fan didn't turn. That damn fan. Usually it spun lazily as he napped on the couch. What a familiar scenario, it hadn't always been his _choice_ to lie here. Just where he usually ended up. Home … or as close to one as he had ever known. He heaved a relieved sigh, trusting this was real and not some tormenting dream.

 

His chest spasmed, triggering a coughing fit. After the torture finished, he dismally looked back up. A motion caught his attention. “Huh?”

 

Ed perched on the arm of the couch, grinning down at him. “Spike sounds like Ein's squeaky toy.”

 

He smirked. “Probably gonna for a while, kid.” Instead of leaving, Ed crawled along the back of couch, slinking like a cat. A question congealed in his mind. “Hey, Ed … how did I get a free pass out of prison?”

 

She snapped her hand to her forehead in a salute. “Orders from Captain Sourpuss. Hack the system and do justice.” Springing into a handstand on the back of the couch, she laughed. “Justice is blind, problem with the filing. Oops! Evidence go bye-bye. Lunkhead goes free.”

 

At the nickname, Spike rolled his eyes. “Ed, this is very important … how thoroughly did you hack the ISSP files? I don't want to get dragged back to prison.”

 

“MPU helped. All systems go.” She rocked back and forth, perched on the back of the couch.

 

He cocked an eyebrow, unsure he heard her right. “Wait … MPU? You mean that satellite AI?”

 

“Of course. MPU is Ed's friend who lives in Tomato.” She nodded blissfully. “Jet got to play cop again, Agent Black, long enough to make _official_ visit. Record go bye-bye. File is pardoned. Spike cowboy again. See?” She reached back and picked up her computer, keying a screen before turning it to Spike.

 

He blinked. His bounty hunter's license reported valid. Something entirely out of the question for a convict, especially one with a life … er … death sentence. She hit a few more keys and showed him the ISSP file. It read like a bad crime drama filled with amateur procedure and false conclusions. At the top the status read **Pardoned due to mishandling** , complete with what appeared to be an official verification code. Free and clear.

 

“Faye told Edward what to write.” Ed pointed to a cheesy crime novel lying open on the floor. “Ooo lala, coppers skipped steps. Not fair to Spike. So made cops tell the truth.”

 

“Well,” Spike almost laughed, catching himself before making the mistake, “they're usually incompetent anyway.” He met her smiling eyes and pointed his hand like a gun at her, pulling the trigger clumsily. “You fired one helluva a shot at them in my defense. Way to go kiddo, I owe you.”

 

She clasped her hands together, perched like a squirrel. “Spike play chess with Ed?”

 

“Maybe … when I feel up to it.”

 

In a rare moment, Ed stared at him somberly. “Spike was a bad man.”

 

Despite his efforts, Spike's guilt weighed on him until he couldn't meet the hurt in her eyes. He sought refuge in watching his hand riding on his chest. The words came slowly, painful in admission, “Yeah … I really was, in a former life.”

 

She cocked her head. “Not now?”

 

He forced a smile, but his eyes still wouldn't meet her curious gaze. “Nah. There's enough bad guys out there. They don't need me anymore.”

 

Jet peered over the back of the couch with a crooked grin. “Hey, look who lived! You got some color to you now. Looks like my grandma came to your rescue.”

 

“She's not the only one. Should have known you guys couldn't run this gig without me.” Spike winked, wriggling experimentally beneath the blanket. He hissed as his pulled chest muscles tensed. “Tch, feel like death warmed over … but at least I'm warm.” Of course his effort at a wry laugh ended in a wracking cough. As soon as he caught his breath he snapped, “Damn it! Can't keep doing that.”

 

“For once you have a valid excuse to lie around.” Jet folded his arms. “I suspect it'll be a while before you're up to your old antics.”

 

“Enjoy it while it lasts, pard'.”

 

“Hungry?”

 

Spike lidded his eyes. “You have to ask?”

 

A few minutes later, Jet propped Spike up on the couch and handed him a plate heaped with bell peppers and beef. Spike raised an eyebrow. “I must be dreaming … actual beef?” Clumsily he picked up the chopsticks, awkward as they rubbed up against the rags he'd tied there. But hunger overpowered any injury to his pride. Stuffing his face, he only paused long enough for the intermittent coughing fits to subside. After over a year of near starvation, the flavor of the dish in his hand put to shame the memory he had fought to bury of that last meal. Jet smoked a cigarette, watching him in silence. Once he polished off the plate, Jet set it on the table. Spike glanced up, “Sooo … where the hell we headed now?”

 

Jet waved a hand. “I figured we'd take a vacation on Callisto.”

 

Furrowing his brow, Spike snorted, “Ha ha, asshole!”

 

Slapping his knee, he guffawed. “I'm joking. I set course for Ganymede. Figured by the time we get there you might have your groove back again.”

 

He shrugged and muttered hoarsely, “We'll have to see. Not if I can't get a good lungful of air, I won't.”

 

“Give it time. We could dose you up again?”

 

Cringing, Spike mock gagged. “Please, don't.” His gaze flicked toward the pack of cigarettes on the table. Against his will, his hand drifted, fingers twitching. It was too far for him to reach.

 

Jet shook his head. “You really think that's wise?”

 

“Since when has wisdom been one of my virtues? Please Jet, it's been … shit, I don't even know how long … ”

 

“Sixteen months total,” he murmured.

 

A brief flicker of shock betrayed him before he lowered his head. “Heh, no wonder I'm dying for one.”

 

Plucking a fresh cigarette from the pack, Jet handed it to him and lit it. Spike leaned back, lengthening his chest and carefully took shallow inhales. At last scratching the addictive itch he'd been unable to reach. The smoke trail drifted lazily into the air. With relief, he sighed. “It's good to be back. I really missed this place.”

 

A few hours later, Spike had managed to squirm his way back to lying down. Savoring a cigarette, he stared idly up at the ceiling contemplating what martial arts routines would hasten rebuilding his stamina, once he could actually stand and breathe properly. Several potentials presented themselves. After all, it would be sheer lunacy to launch straight into a full Jeet Kune Do round … well, unless he wanted to say hello to the deck plating for the next couple of months. Not the best tactic.

 

Faye leaned over the back of the couch, her face twisted into an unflattering scowl. “Well, that's an intelligent decision.”

 

Spike half-hooded his eyes and muttered around the smoldering cigarette. “What? You mean drinking Jet's grandmother's rejuvenating snake oil? I dunno, it seems to have worked. Looks like I have a bit more time before I can tell her spirit how bad it tastes.”

 

She reached for the cigarette.

 

Spike snatched it from his mouth and held it out of her reach. “I don't think so.”

 

“If Jet finds out—”

 

“Do you honestly think I got up and filched them? Jet left them here for me after I asked.” Raising his voice irritated his lungs, he coughed briefly.

 

She folded her arms. “See?”

 

“Bitch bitch bitch.” He knocked the ash on the floor. “Nobody gets a say in how I live my life, least of all … ” Spike pointed at her with the same hand holding the cigarette, “ … you.”

 

“Well,” she folded her arms, stalking around to the front of the couch as she snapped, “we didn't have to break your sorry ass out of prison. By the way, nice tattoos. Does that show up on a grocery scanner?Why don't we just turn around, tell the warden there's been a mistake, and see how you stand another round of Spike on ice.”

 

He narrowed his eyes. “I think we might be able to get a bounty for locking you back in cryo just to spare the galaxy from listening to your nagging.” Just as he was about to put the cigarette back in his mouth, she lunged and snatched it, dancing out of the way. Spike reached out for her, “Damn it, Faye! Give it back!”

 

Ein ambled into the room, his head twisting as he looked between the two.

 

Just out of Spike's range, she smiled darkly. “No. Especially since you're acting like a baby!”

 

Spike leaned over the edge, grunting with the effort to reach the cigarette. A sudden moment of shock seized him as he realized he had gone well over his center of mass. In a terrible muddle he failed to save himself as he toppled onto the floor, landing hard on his left side.

 


	9. Session 9

_ **Session 9** _

 

Jet stared at the screen on the bridge. All clear. Nothing but clear hyperspace in front or behind them. With a sigh, he leaned back. The plan had gone off without a hitch, but still—if someone discovered the forged record, things could get hot in the _Bebop's_ wake with the majority of a month to go before they would land on Ganymede. The voices carrying in from the other room rankled him. Spike hadn't even been reliably conscious for twenty-four hours yet and already they were bickering.

 

Claws scrapping against the floor caught his attention. Ein darted up and grabbed a mouthful of his pant leg, pulling.

 

“Ein! Let go! What the hell is it?”

 

The corgi wouldn't release the fabric, he kept frantically tugging away. Jet took a step. Silence … the room was quiet. Too quiet. He darted into the living room startled by the empty couch. Faye knelt down beside the table, her hand covering her mouth.

 

“Spike? You idiot! You didn't get up … ” Jet stomped down the stairs to the sound of a sharp inhale. Between the table and the couch he discovered Spike wedged on his left side raised up on an elbow. Each breath a tight wheeze. “Faye—what happened?”

 

“I was just … I didn't think he would … it was a joke … ”

 

Jet scowled at her. “It wasn't funny. Spike, can you get up?”

 

“ … no … ” he shuddered. “I can't … move. Landed on something … I was trying … to protect … ”

 

Panic seized Jet, he pushed Faye out of the way. “Spike! You're bleeding!”

 

“Don't worry … ” He panted, his white shirt wicked a pinkish fluid. “It's not fresh … ” His hand pumped into a loose fist.

 

Despite the strangled cry from Spike, Jet eased him off his side and pulled the shirt up. His hand jerked back. Framed in countless blackened bruises, a deep electrical burn traced and distorted the outline of a broad nerve cluster wrapping around Spike's side. Underneath the series of now weeping blisters, the pucker of the katana strike Jet had seen in the photo stretched with the swelling. “That's a third degree burn!”

 

“Multiple.” Spike corrected with a grimace. “A few of the guards … one in particular … were perceptive enough to pick up on … that my left side was vulnerable, tender from the scar. Sadists, the whole lot of them! Gah!” His words cut off in a hiss. “I'd managed to keep the latest batch of blisters from breaking open,” he glared at tongue-tied Faye who couldn't meet his eyes, “ … until this!”

 

“Spike, that needs attention.”

 

“Does now,” he grumbled.

 

“They only aimed for there? That's brutal.”

 

Spike shook his head. “Oh no … that's not all of them.” He edged a hand along his leg, bringing the knee up so he could reach his ankle. Catching the cuff he eased it up and revealed a long blistered welt up his calf, just as deep.

 

Jet gasped. “I'd thought you were just weak … I didn't realize … you were _actually_ limping.”

 

Tugging the bandage loose with his teeth, he unwound it from his right hand and let the rag fall. Along with the layered ring of frost-bitten flesh around his wrist, a mass of blisters obliterated his palm. Spike stared somberly at it. “I had a choice … let that bastard's shock stick through for a strike across my chest … or grab it with both hands. Figured I stood a better chance of living through this.”

 

Faye buried her eyes.

 

Jet bowed his head. _How can the ISSP sanction this?_ “Faye. Get the burn salve and some bandages.” Carefully he reached between the various wounds to help Spike back onto the couch. When he looked up, Faye still shuddered on the floor. “Faye! Are you deaf? Get going!”

 

With her head tucked, she dashed out the room.

 

“Let's take this off, I'll get a clean one once I finish.” Gently easing Spike's shirt off so he could tend the injuries, Jet discovered many more burns and deep bruises in different colors all over, evidence that Spike had failed to escape more than one brutal thrashing. The outlines of fingers on his upper arms proved he'd been held, probably for the recent beating. “Partner, you should have told me.”

 

Spike hissed as the angry flesh shifted. “You were already … worried.” Lying on his right side now he coughed himself hoarse.

 

Hastily Faye returned with the salve and a lot of bandages. Without looking at her, Jet took the jar and uncapped it to her hasty retreat from the living room. Nothing to be said. Jet took a swipe of the pasty salve and touched it the edge of the weeping sores.

 

Spike recoiled with a cry. Moisture building in the corner of his left eye.

 

“Sorry … ” Pulling his hand back, Jet swallowed the remaining words as a tear rolled down Spike's cheek. Never, in all the time they had spent together had he witnessed that. In their years as partners, despite the damage Spike took as the _Bebop's_ front man, somehow a numbness had prevented it. That barrier … was now gone.

 

“You didn't do this.” Panting, Spike left his eyes closed. Every breath collapsed his chest, bruised muscle sliding over bone. “The ISSP did.”

 

Jet leaned forward, trying to put as little pressure as possible on the wound. It did no good. Raw bits of skin shifted with the motion jolting Spike. “Did they beat you too?”

 

“The bruises?” He cracked an eye open, still tensing. “Not so much. That was the inmates. Some jerk had to spout out I was the bounty hunter who nabbed him.” He shut it again and sighed. “Not that things had been good before that. But they got worse.”

 

“Surprised you didn't just flatten someone. You know, show them not to screw with you, kid. A demonstration.”

 

“Don't use that word!” He snarled with a vehemence that shocked Jet. The salve worked into a deep wound. Spike arced his head failing to bite back the wail. His wrist pressed against Jet's arm, the blistered palm remained open, fingers like claws. When he caught his breath, he shook his head. “Never picked a fight there. Not once. Just defended myself. The worst was that prick of a guard, Sergio. Real twisted bastard.” Spike glanced at the scar. The color drained from his face as he grunted and laid his head back on his arm. “Barely needed an excuse to target me. And of course he's the dick who figured out where to hit and treated me like a damn pinata. Like to see his ass without that stick of his. See how brave he would be. Cowards like him soil themselves in the face of a real fight. Ahhh!”

 

Jet's hand braced Spike's shoulder. “This is the deepest of it. Hold on, this is going to hurt.” As his fingers worked the salve in, the paste tinted pink. Every motion trigger a flinch. Spike's teeth gritted hard enough to squeal. Layers of previously healed blisters marred his skin. Jet recalled the temperature in the prison and pondered the thermal jumpsuit Spike had been wearing. Had he dared to open it to care for the blisters? Or just suffered through them blindly, hoping infection didn't set in? Hoping to distract him, Jet rumbled, “Stings like a son of a bitch, I know. I've nailed myself welding. Third degree burns more than once. You could say the _Bebop_ bit me back for wounding her.”

 

Clearly lanced by the pain, Spike's locked jaw couldn't answer. Jet fell silent, powerless to ease his partner's discomfort anymore than spending the next hour smearing dozens of blisters. Many burst, but a few still remained fluid pockets. Carefully dressing the wounds, he finished with the left hand. By then, Spike's flagging stamina had burned out. His dull eyes stared out into the space beyond Jet.

 

“Spike, you have to be honest with me, is there anything else?”

 

His gaze shifted and took a long moment to focus. With an exhausted sigh, he murmured, “No … that's the last shameful effect of that place.”

 

Jet frowned. “The salve should take some of the edge off.”

 

“I wish.” Spike shut his eyes. “Damn it, Jet … why did I have to fall off the couch?”

 

“Because, you were being stubborn. Now, go to sleep. In eight hours I'll have to change those bandages.”

 

Grumbling, Spike pulled the blanket up. “Sick of all this shit. Is it too much to ask just feel human again?”

 

*

 

Something brushed against Spike's arm. Wearily, he opened his eyes. It took too long for the blurry image to even begin to focus, annoying him further. Shit he was beyond drained. By now, whoever it was, held his left limp forearm repeatedly blotting something soft against the skin.

 

Jet? Had it been eight hours again already? It didn't feel like it. And the hands were far too soft to be his. The fingers too fine … with … nails? He brought his right hand up and rubbed hard at his eyes, clearing them. When at last he opened them again, he blinked in surprise.

 

 _Faye?_ He saw, and yet he couldn't believe his own eyes. She knelt by the couch holding his arm out and dabbing a pad with some beigey powdery stuff over the black bars of the tattoo. He drew in a shallow breath and muttered, “In case you didn't notice, I am trying to sleep here.”

 

“That's all you've been doing for the last two days.” She replied firmly, pressing the pad into a flat container only to smear more of the substance over his tattoo.

 

“Well … that's cause I'm still quite ill on top of trying to heal, for shit's sake. Seriously, even I'm forced to admit I'm kinda thrashed here.”

 

Undeterred, she kept blotting the lines. Her brow furrowed as she ground it harder into the pores. “Damn, your skin tone is a bitch to match. I'm not sure I have the right foundation.”

 

Spike quirked an eyebrow. “Foundation?” Turning his arm a bit in her grasp, he observed the darker blotchy cover-up. “Are you putting makeup on me?”

 

Without missing a beat she replied, “Yes.”

 

“Uhh … but I'm a guy.”

 

“Well, guys can wear makeup, too.”

 

Spike half-hooded his eyes, gritting his teeth. “Not this guy.”

 

She flushed, it was brief but he caught it. That single moment stopped him from pulling his arm out of her hold. “You can't go around with these on display, Spike.”

 

Was she honestly concerned? He concealed his surprise with a roll of his eyes. “Faye, I'm not even on my feet yet and everyone on the ship knows what happened. What's the big deal?”

 

Flustered, she glanced away. “They bother me! Alright?”

 

“Gee, sorry to be an eyesore.”

 

“Well … even if people don't precisely know what the tattoos mean, these will draw attention. You know, raise questions.”

 

He peered at the spongy blotches on his arm several shades darker then his skin. “They're sure to ask questions about the funny patch of … what color is that?”

 

“Honey Buff. Oh, but it's too dark on you. Hold on. I'm not done yet. We need better blending, maybe some powder … ” She turned and started to dig through a elaborate kit on the table.

 

Spike sighed. “You grab any of that eye crap and I don't care how much it hurts me, I'm gonna lay your ass out on the floor!

 

“Waste good mascara on your non-existent lashes?” She held up a container with a curved brush. “Not on your life! Same goes for eyeliner. Although, come to think of it, a bit of midnight blue gradient would bring out your eyes. A touch of green to tie into your hair color … ”

 

“Whuh?” He stiffened. “I like my eyes as they are.”

 

Ein padded up and cocked his head. His tongue hanging out over the badly sponged over tattoo lines. A string of drool dripped down and landed on Spike's arm. As it rolled down the contours the drop pulled the makeup with it. Now the solid black bars peeked out of a clean stripe. The moment Spike pulled back and rubbed his arm against his shirt by accident the makeup smeared on it.

 

“Great! Now I got this shit all over me.” Spike smirked. “Oh sure, this is really going to work. I can just imagine the stunned looks as people ask me why my skin is dyeing my shirt.”

 

Faye turned back, uncapping a container with a big puff in it. “Stop being a baby. I'm not done yet.”

 

Spike was about to reply when a coughing fit stole his words. Once he could breathe again his flesh had paled a few shades, even harder to match. He grumbled, tugging on the blanket. “Just let me go back to sleep.”

 

With her hand on her hip, she scowled. “Do you want to get picked up and hauled back in?”

 

“That takes being somewhere other than on this ship out in the middle of no-where. There's plenty of time to figure this out. Time when I'm not seriously just trying to breathe without choking.” He stared up at the ceiling fan, watching the lazy turns and wishing he didn't hear each one of his wheezy breaths. When the silence stretched on too long he caught her stern gaze and sighed. “No shit I don't want to go back there. Once was enough. But I'm telling you, smearing that crap on me isn't gonna stick long enough if a bit of dog drool takes it off. I'll think of something when the time comes.”

 

She folded her arms across her chest with a fire in her eyes about to lay into him. A dog nose edged over the container on the table. A moment later, Ein grabbed the handle of the puff and padded backwards. He shook his head and the air exploded with white powder.

 

“Ein!” Faye screeched and darted down to catch him.

 

The corgi play-growled and danced off, climbing the stairs with a contrail of fine powder showering the deck.

 

Left on the couch, Spike couldn't suppress the laughter. Of course, that irritated his lungs and soon he succumbed to coughing in-between bouts of laughter. Faye's furious taunts at the little dog echoed through the ship. “Ein! Get back here you little mongrel!”

 


	10. Session 10

_ **Session 10** _

 

Sitting cross-legged at the table, Faye peered at the cards in her hand. She pouted and pulled out the second card, sliding it over to Ed on the table.

 

“Hehehe! Yesss!” She snatched it from the table and put it in her hand.

 

From his perpetual seat on the couch, Spike's expression soured. He folded the cards in his bandaged hand and glared at Faye until she looked up, the perfect picture of innocence. “What?”

 

“You're cheating.”

 

“I am not! I just drew it.”

 

“Really, Faye?” Jet glanced up in surprise. He folded up his cards and set them on the table. “Spike, how did you know?”

 

He smirked. “You did not _just draw it_. You put _that_ card at the other end. You drew the three of spades three turns ago. You're holding out, that's not by the rules of the game.”

 

“Well, who says you're not pulling something, Mr. nimble fingers!”

 

“Uh huh.” Spike held up his free hand, five days worth of bandage changes and the blisters had improved, but his body struggled to find the reserves to catch up. He was healing much slower than typical. “You think I have dexterity enough for card tricks at the moment? And where would I be keeping a crimp to bring out?” He tugged at the short sleeve of his t-shirt.

 

Faye switched her glance to Jet before closing her card hand. “Ed asked nicer than you did.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

Blinking, Ed glanced at the table. “Can I go now?”

 

“Might as well.” Spike laid his head back, staring at the ceiling fan's lazy turns.

 

“Spike, do you have a three?” She grinned and held her hand out.

 

He didn't even look, just pulled the end card out and tossed it on the table.

 

“Hehe!” Ed laid the stack of four cards on the table and declared. “Ed has no more fishies to fish. Ed wins!”

 

“Congratulations.” Faye smiled.

 

“Only Faye would cheat at Go Fish.” Jet shook his head at her.

 

“What? Are you going to trust a convicted felon over me?”

 

Rubbing his chin, Jet mused, “Given the track record … ”

 

“Jet!”

 

Spike burst into laughter, it ended with a short coughing fit, far diminished from what had plagued him days before.

 

Folding his arms across his chest, Jet gave her a mocking frown. “Well, let's count the number of times you lied, starting with that load you spouted off the first moment on the ship about being a Romany!”

 

Faye's jaw tightened, she jabbed a finger toward Spike. “Are you telling me that he told you the truth right away? That you knew he was a convict?”

 

Spike pointed to the tattoo on his arm. “That requires being incarcerated, something that only happened once, recently, as you know. So, no I wasn't a convict.”

 

“Fine! A criminal then.”

 

“That is more like it.” He shrugged a shoulder and glanced at Jet. “Heh, I didn't _exactly_ disclose it … but yeah, he knew before the official invitation to stay. An invitation that was never formally extended to you, by the way.”

 

Jet nodded his head. “Besides, an omission is distinctly different than a direct lie. And another thing, the circumstances didn't permit much time for a general conversation.”

 

“Men!” she snarled. “What were you two doing, drinking?”

 

Rubbing his chin again, Jet narrowed an eye at Spike. “Come to think of it … it was a bar, wasn't it?”

 

He snickered. “Yah, you reeked of ISSP. Swore you were an active agent. I couldn't believe it when you ribbed me, bragging about knowing a criminal when you saw one. Do you have any idea how close you came to eating a round from my Jericho?”

 

“You wouldn't have.”

 

Spike leaned back and eyed him. “Two weeks of self-pity drinking after faking my own death to leave the only life I'd ever known? I'll be honest with ya, buddy, I don't even remember what city that was I'd landed in. Thought when you started chatting that someone tipped off the ISSP so that a regular enforcer didn't have to bother closing me out. Considering my reputation, that wasn't a far cry. Imagine my shock when it turned out you _really_ had no idea who I was, not until that bitch Topaz spat it out. Swore with that look in your eye you were going to plug me if I didn't shoot first.” He heaved a long sigh. “Sure am glad you listened and I didn't have to.”

 

With a crooked smile, Jet blushed. “I … I had my suspicions.”

 

“When?” The silence stretched out. Spike arched an eyebrow. “You told me you thought I'd been a damn good bounty hunter, Jet. Face it, you had no idea I was ex-syndicate until it came up.”

 

Jet rubbed the back of his neck and blubbered.

 

Faye slapped her hand on the table. “So, Jet's the liar now!”

 

“Don't tell me,” Spike stared at the ceiling, “that I'm the most honest soul on this ship. That would be tragic.”

 

Leaning over the table, Ed collected the cards into a messy pile and held them out to Spike. “Play again. Spike's turn to shuffle.”

 

“Gotta pass on that part, kiddo. For now anyway. Jet can take my turn as dealer.”

 

“Ooooohhh.” She pouted. “Ed likes watching Spike shuffle.”

 

Jet took the stack from her hands and started to move the cards. “It's no big deal. How 'bout I let Spike cut the deck?”

 

“Sure,” Faye muttered, studying her nails, “so _he_ can cheat.”

 

Spike shrugged. “This isn't Black Jack or Poker, Faye. You can't really stack the deck in Go Fish.”

 

“If anyone can, you would figure it out.”

 

Spike gave a cocky grin. “I'll take that as a compliment. But I wouldn't waste the effort on a childish game.”

 

“Nyooo! Ed likes Go Fish.”

 

He rolled his eyes. Jet handed him the deck. With a quick move, he slipped his fingers along the edge and snatched about a third of the pile, flipping it to the bottom. “Alright, here we go.” He snapped the cards in succession to each of the others until they had full hands. Picking up his own, he blinked. “Nice.” He laid down the complete set of four Jacks.

 

Faye ground her jaw. “Cheater!”

 

“Hey, call it luck. I just handled what I was dealt.” He leaned back and looked at Ed. “I think you go first.”

 

After her draw, Ed raised an eyebrow and stared at the back of Spike's last card. “Gots an eight?”

 

“Nope. Go fish.”

 

She plunged into the top of the deck flipping the card with excitement. Her shoulders fell. “Oh well. It's Faye Faye's turn!”

 

Faye drew her card, then narrowed her eyes at Spike. “Is it a queen?”

 

“When did this become 'guess Spike's card'? Nope. Cast a line.”

 

She eyed him as she drew her card. Gesturing to him, she nodded. “We'll know in a minute!”

 

Spike drew a new card, and laughed. “'Cept you forgot this part.” A devilish smile crossed his lips. “Hey Faye, hand over that queen.”

 

“Damn it!” She tossed the card down.

 

Spike collected her's and added it to his mystery card. “Now I think I'll hold out on this one til the end of the day.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

Jet chuckled, “Yeah, that would work, but since you got her card … ”

 

“Oh shit.” Sheepishly, he turned to Jet, “Hey, you got a four, partner?”

 

“Nah, go fish … ”

 

The idle games continued until Ed flopped over and curled into a ball snuggled with Ein. The two snored away. Spike eased himself up from the couch, discarding the deck into the middle of the table. Reaching out, Jet eyed him, “You got this?”

 

“Yeah, if I don't move too quick it's not too bad. Before you ask, I know cause I've already been up when you weren't watching. I need to stretch things out or this is gonna take forever. Just gonna wander the ship a bit.”

 

“Take it easy.” Jet watched over his shoulder.

 

“Heh, like there is any other option.” Spike's shuffled gait betrayed that his body ruled that argument. He slid one hand along the wall to maintain his balance, his leg still ached mercilessly with every step. Aimlessly he wandered the corridors, content to simply be able to move without excruciating pain.

 

He stepped up onto the ledge outside the hanger door. His hand rested indecisively on the latch. Once he peered inside the question would be answered. He dreaded the possibility. Taking as deep a breath as he could, he opened the door and peered into the darkness.

 

Out of the gloom a spear of crimson red stretched beneath the crossed wings. Under her belly winked the shimmer of the silver plasma cannon. Limping across the deck, Spike closed the distance. His heart pounded against his ribs. His hand hovered in the air just a fraction from touching her side. Afraid to commit to it … what if he only saw what he wanted? What if he only imagined her there because he longed for one last shred of who he was?

 

He swallowed and forced his hand to contact her cold surface. _Real … she's here, my Swordfish._ Shutting his eyes he walked along her side, letting his bare fingers explore her familiar curves. The cut of her fuselage, the smooth barrel of the devastating cannon mounted beneath her. Memories filled his mind of pushing her to the limit until she practically rattled apart. The thrill of the chase into those heart-stopping moments. She the constant companion that never failed him … well, almost never.

 

Resting his arms on the cannon, he leaned forward and laid his cheek against the cold barrel. “Did you miss me, old girl? Shit, we've been through so many years together. I promise,” he caressed her longingly, “as soon as I can manage it we'll spread both our wings. It's just … right now … I'm kinda crippled.”

 

Steps echoed behind him. Spike stiffened, his eyes still stared ahead.

 

“Jet and I tracked her down.” Faye's hesitant voice bounced off the bare walls. “We sent out a signal. Luckily in your haste, you'd forgotten to disengage the com. Took us a while to sneak her out from under the ISSP's noses, since you ditched her near the tower. But we got her on board without anyone being the wiser.” She came into his line of sight, tugging at the red shirt she always wore tied over her arms. “Jet was furious. Said he knew by the why you left her that you had been convinced that was it … it was over. You … weren't coming back.”

 

He bowed his head. The pressure in his chest throbbing.

 

“Over a year, Spike! We dedicated more than a year trying to find out what happened to your selfish ass, only taking quick jobs to get us through.” When she continued, her voice tightened. “You left us … you told me you were leaving to see if you had lived. Spike … did you? Did you come back alive?”

 

He leaned heavier, the ship taking most of his weight. “Faye … ” The words died in his throat. He shook his head. “Don't … ”

 

“I have to know.” She reached for his shoulder.

 

Spike drew away from her, turning his back and cupping his head. Too soon. These weren't the questions for now. His defenses failed to engage, raw and exposed he clung to the side of his precious ship, reeling from the surge of emotions threatening to crush him. Gone … all of it was gone. A whole life buried beneath the rubble of a crumbling empire he had devoutly placed his complete trust in. Mao, Lin, Shin … even in some remote time, Vicious … long ago when the future held more possibilities. But not now.

 

Julia … he cringed, his knees threatened to give out.

 

“Spike, please. I have to understand why you did it … the past doesn't matter.”

 

“Easy for you to say,” he snapped, glaring over his shoulder. “Your past lies behind decades in a cryo chamber.”

 

She flinched at his acidic outburst, gripping her arms to her chest.

 

“Your family didn't die by your own hand!”

 

She shook her head. “Spike, what are you talking about?”

 

His head bowed, a hand tightened as his breathing intensified. “The syndicate … the Red Dragons … they raised me, made me what I am. And I … ” buckling against the ship, he gritted his teeth, “Vicious, why did you force my hand? I didn't want to … I never wanted that … I just wanted to leave! It was you who wouldn't let me go! Your demented actions dragged me back!”

 

Silence stretched out. Spike remained locked behind shut eyes.

 

“I'm … I'm not used to this.” She whispered. “You're usually … so closed off.”

 

He slid down to the ground, crossing his arms on his bent knees. “Near death experiences tend to change people … and … this isn't my first one. I don't even regret what I did … how screwed up is that?” He swallowed. “Right now I really don't want to talk about this. Drop it. Give me some space.”

 

She reached toward him, “Spike, I lo… ”

 

He recoiled. “Don't say it! No, Faye—not now!”

 

Taking a step back, tears welled in her eyes. Her hoarse voice barely above a whisper, “Will you spend the rest of your life alone?”

 

“Probably.” He buried his face in his arms.

 

“All because of _her_? What did she have that I don't? Huh?”

 

He took a shuddered breath before the words escaped him, “My … shattered trust.”

 

Her breath counted the minutes that passed. Neither moved. Neither spoke. Faye eventually turned away.

 

“Faye … you'll never understand.” He loathed how his voice cracked, but she had stopped, waiting on his words. “It's not you. I just can't explain it. So please … I'd appreciate if you'd stop trying. The burden is hard enough on me … that's why I don't share it. There is someone out there for you … but that someone … he isn't a broken wretch like me.”

 

The steps grew closer. “I don't think you understand. Both of us, we've lost everything.” She bent down, her arms encircling his shoulders. “On this ship we're family … you're like a … a brother to me.”

 

His hand shifted up, embracing her arm. Through a tight throat he forced out, “That makes you my pain in the ass little sister.”

 

Faye chuckled and held him tighter. “Technically, I'm older than you.”

 

“Don't … don't tell Jet about this.” Spike squeezed her arm. “He thinks I've got my shit together … and … I … ”

 

“Really don't.” She finished for him. He sagged under the admission. “No one ever told you it was ok to lose it once in a while, did they?”

 

He shook his head. “I was syndicate raised … failure meant only one thing—death.”

 

“You're not one of those heartless bastards anymore. Besides, you shirk the rules all the time. Come on Spike, I know you better than to respect authority.”

 

“Remember what I told you,” he lifted his head and swallowed, turning away, “near death experiences change a guy. I wasn't the same person before that night standing alone in the graveyard for over an hour in the rain waiting for the woman who never came. The uncertainty … that silence killed me for real. Before that apparent betrayal … it had been nothing but a trick. A diversion planned to cover my tracks. But that single moment in time made it real.” He dropped his head into his arms. “Or so I thought … that night I lost sense of what was real anyway. I don't even know what I'm saying.”

 

“More than you have before.” Faye leaned in closer. “You know, you're really not the shallow jerk you pretend to be.”

 

“Faye … ”

 

“Shh. Don't ruin it.”

 


	11. Session 11

_ **Session 11** _

 

Jet stared at the rows of bonsai trees. The sheers hung in his hand uselessly. An hour had passed without a move. The distraction proved too great for him as his mind swirled over what had transpired. Earlier, sitting at the table the illusion of normalcy descended. Ed's cheerful banter. Faye's underhanded efforts to con the game. Even Spike's easy laughter … that sound had been the moment it set in. His old partner truly survived the trials of the past nearly year-and-a-half. The whole team was together again.

 

He spied the clock and sighed. Time to go find where Spike had wandered off to. Taking the burn salve with him, he padded through the logical parts of the ship. At last passing through the living room. Faye sat on the couch painting her toe nails a garish red. The blanket and pillow were missing.

 

“Have you seen Spike?” He scratched the back of his neck.

 

Distractedly, she replied, “Try his room.”

 

Jet threw a glance in that general direction. “His room? But he basically used that as a storage closet.”

 

She dipped the brush in the bottle and drew it back out again without looking up.

 

Clear that he wouldn't get a reply, Jet turned and headed for the crew quarters. The door for Spike's was ajar. A thin ray of light shot through the gap casting a stark outline across his shoulder. Opening the door all the way, Jet's shadow intruded into the room. He stared at his partner lying on his right side under the blanket, now returned to the bed where it had originally come from. The room itself had largely collected dust in Spike's absence. A few items remained of his cache of weaponry, but not much. Beyond a few books, Spike never accumulated many possessions.

 

Jet's focus returned to the figure on the bed … no wait, he shifted in the hall to let the light strike better. A small tan body nestled up against Spike's chest. Ein flicked an ear and opened his eyes.

 

Keeping his voice low, Jet waved his hand in the air. “Ein, get off the bed! Right now! You know Spike doesn't like you.”

 

Stubbornly, Ein laid his ears back and remained, burrowing deeper into the bunk.

 

“Ein!” Jet commanded to no avail.

 

He was about to enter when Spike shifted under the blanket. Beneath the lids his eyes darted around. Hands pumped as his arms trembled. He wordlessly mumbled, clearly assaulted by some nightmare.

 

The corgi worked his head under Spike's left arm. He nuzzled tighter against Spike's neck, turning his nose so every breath puffed against his skin. To Jet's shock, Spike curled around the little dog, settling back into stillness, breathing evenly once more.

 

“Alright,” he mouthed, “you can stay.” Closing the door partway, Jet shook his head. “Never would have imagined that. Hope he's not too pissed off when he wakes up.”

 

*

 

Burrowed under the covers, Spike stirred and yawned just on the edge of waking. His left side prickled, an annoying assurance that the skin was finally healing. Drowsily he scratched the itch through the bandages, shifting in his bed for a better angle.

 

_Wheeeeeeezzzz—zzzziiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!_

 

“Gaaah—Owwww!” Reflexively, the half-awake Spike jerked at the unexpected high-pitched squeal, the back of his head smacked the wall. Rubbing the already growing goose egg, he forced one eye open to seek vengeance on his assailant.

 

He blinked at the object. “Huh?” A bone lay on the covers. He picked it up and bent the rubber toy in half. _Whhheeezz—zzzzzziiiieeeeeeeeee._ Along the surface crisscrossing scrape marks betrayed the owner.

 

Spike took a deep breath and bellowed, “Ein!”

 

The clatter of claws answered. A moment later the corgi smiled at him from the doorway, his butt wiggled in a joyous dance that only served to further Spike's ire.

 

He peered over the bone at the countless short golden hairs scattered all over his blanket. His eyes shifted up to Ein. Through clenched teeth, Spike growled, “You **better** not have fleas again, you mongrel.”

 

Ein woofed and half jumped, his front legs leaving the floor briefly.

 

With a grunt, Spike heaved the toy out the door into a squeaking flight. It hit the wall outside his room and rebounded noisily with the exuberant dog giving chase. He sat up on the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands mumbling to himself.

 

_Whhheeeeeezzz—_

 

Peering through his fingers, Spike stared straight at Ein standing with his paws between his bare feet. Ein let the pressure off the toy and it finished the grating whistle.

 

“Do that again and I'll throw it out the airlock.”

 

*

 

Buford didn't even blink. The moment the man on the bar stool spat out the coarse insult, he gripped the beer bottle and smashed it into his grinning mouth, knocking teeth out. “Don't you ever insult my wife!”

 

That collision launched the bar into a chain reaction of flying fists and glass. Buford leapt into fray with a war cry from his days spent on Titan. His meaty fists plowed through everything in his path until at last the bar owner plugged the muzzle of a rifle into his grill. “Out! Now! I never want to see you here again!”

 

“Tsh!” Buford pushed the barrel away and stormed out the door with his hands in his pockets.

 

Not even a block away, a black haired woman flicked him a sympathetic smile over her shoulder. “Hey, soldier boy. You still got some fight in you?”

 

“Leave me alone.” He snarled, trying to pass by.

 

She came up beside him, her sweet perfume drifting on the breeze. “You look like you could take on a whole ring of fighters. Anger just surges from you. A real man of action.”

 

“I'm married, toots. So don't get any ideas.”

 

Her hand brushed his forearm. “I'm not talking about anything involving horizontal dancing, Bowser.” Her lashes fluttered. “I'm talking about releasing that shackled beast within you. Come with me, I have some friends who can exorcise that demon.”

 

His fist pounded into a hand. Red light flared in his eyes as she gestured toward a two person monoship. A funny little bird spread its wings wide on the side of the craft. Buford followed her gesture.

 


	12. Session 12

_ **Session 12** _

 

A slow inhale. Spike opened his eyes to the star scape streaking past the bridge windows. The effect threw off his balance until he forced his eyes to concentrate on the central hub of a window crossbar. The rest of the galaxy faded into the background, just noise. The metal of the deck cold beneath his bare feet. In his dark-gray sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, over the yards and yards of bandages, he steeled himself for the challenge.

 

He exhaled and began to move, lifting and lowering each limb in an experimental exercise intended to expose weakness. The further Spike moved through the gentle pattern, the harder reality struck. Each muscle group screamed deficiency. Silently he chastised himself for expecting anything more. After sixteen months of sheer hell surviving on mere scraps of prison rations, of course his body had resorted to catabolism. Especially once the Ice Fever set in. That energy wasted coughing his lungs out had accelerated the damage.

 

The game-plan of getting back to his prior level of fitness went from the impression of slapping a fresh coat of paint on a building to terraforming an inhospitable planet.

 

Spike abandoned the pattern, his resolve breaking under the inescapable revelation. His shoulders sagged as he bowed his head, fighting the sick twist in the pit of his gut. Staring at his bandaged hands he flexed them. Every motion tugged on the raw skin beneath, waves of searing pain traveled up his arms. A constant aggravation he had refused to let anyone else know about. Somehow even the thought of acknowledging any weakness felt like beating himself with nunchucks. The part that made this crippling that much more difficult to bear—so many physical limitations he couldn't hide. The others had to have noticed. They had salvaged nothing more than a pathetic invalid.

 

Spike closed his eyes. What good was this doing? Standing here in the dark whining in his head about the shame. They knew. It would have taken a blind man not to have seen what he'd been reduced to. Frozen, beaten, half-starved, savaged by illness—

 

_But not dead._

 

He inhaled deeply and snapped open his eyes. Locking his gaze back on the focal point, he gritted his teeth and tightened his core. The responding wave of pain washed through and abated. His sensei's iron rod discipline of countless hours flooded back.

 

_Frailty is only a physical state that can be overcome by persistence._

 

Sinking down, he shifted his balance and bit back the urge to cry out as his leg took the weight. It shuddered, the calf muscle throbbed, threatening to drop him. But Spike merely paused, holding the posture and waiting for it to subside. Each breath came harsher, punched by the effort not to surrender. Gradually, fiber by fiber, the pain faded. Spike took the first hesitant step in the restorative sequence, practically biting his tongue. Every ounce of his concentration stretched to the limit as he forced his shaky body through positions it protested, holding each one until the throbbing complaint diminished.

 

Lost in the pattern, Spike delved further into the sequence, balance growing more critical for fatigued muscles. Leaning forward on one leg, he shifted his arms struggling for balance. The point evaded him as his knee began to buckle.

 

A cold, hard object clasped his shoulder.

 

In a lightning pulse, Spike snapped his foot back to the deck and pivoted sharply, his right hand drove into a open palm strike at the threat now before his intense glare.

 

Contact.

 

The world splintered into a thousand searing needles up his arm. Spike collapsed to his knees cradling his right hand. His mouth hung open in a scream that remained trapped in the silent agony for longer than seemed possible. At last he wailed, “Shit!”

 

“That wasn't your best decision.” Jet's cold cybernetic hand touched his arched back.

 

Through gritted teeth, Spike snapped, “Wasn't a decision! That was a reflex! Damn it, Jet! You can't sneak up on me right now! Survival instincts don't work like light switches!”

 

“I didn't try to sneak up on you. I was trying to help, you were about to fall over.”

 

“Son of a—” Spike hissed. “Locked up with scum who wanted to shive me for affiliations with the Dragons, or worse in their minds—being a bounty hunter, if I stopped to think I'd be dead!”

 

“Seriously, Spike, I didn't expect to see you doing this so soon.”

 

Forcing his eyes open, he glimpsed Jet's tense features. The old scar by his eye puckered against the metal plate. Spike took a few more shuddering breaths and shook his head, sweat drenched him from the previous efforts. “If … if I don't get started soon it will take longer … already waited too long.”

 

“Buddy, be serious. You'll push yourself back—”

 

Acidly, Spike glared at him. “I've already brought myself back from the brink before! I know what I'm doing!”

 

Jet exhaled, his shoulders falling as he leaned away, retracting the supporting hand.

 

Minutes ticked by. At last collecting his frayed nerves, Spike shuffled to the ledge in front of the navigation console and sat hunched over with his knees drawn up, folded arms braced. He stared morosely at the stars. Out of the corner of his eye the line of scan bars from the tattoo haunted him. He wouldn't admit to Faye, but she was right, he had to do something about those.

 

Wordlessly, Jet joined him. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he handed one to Spike and lit it before doing the same for himself. At long last, Jet broke the uneasy silence.

 

“Four years you stayed on the _Bebop,_ four years and never once did you tell me what rank you held in the Red Dragons.”

 

Several breaths passed before Spike replied, his eyes still focused on the starlight skidding by the bow. “You never asked.”

 

“Would you have told me the truth?”

 

He shrugged, his fingers brushed against his leg in a experimental shift. The crackle of pain and a staining on the bandage answered his unasked question. “It's not who I am anymore. Why does it matter?”

 

“Because. I need to understand how deep this went. Why you did what you did. Not even the ISSP record knew who you had been to them.” Jet gave him a sideways glance. “When we first met, you were hardly old enough to have that deep of a grudge to go to such insane lengths.”

 

“You'd be surprised.” Spike plucked the cigarette from his mouth and knocked the ashes loose. “You really want to delve into that shit?” When Jet nodded, Spike looked away forcing the knot from his throat. “I have no idea how old you thought I was back in that bar, but I assure you the count of the years means nothing toward comprehending how savagely treacherous life is.”

 

“You couldn't have been more than—”

 

“Shut up and listen, Jet. Yeah, you got the bitch slap of reality when your perfect world crumbled.” Spike pointed at his cybernetic arm. “But you were an adult, an ISSP agent who knew what he risked. Well, for some life doesn't wait for us to grow up before that rude awakening. The career options get stripped to barely a handful for a six year old coming home to stare at the twin piles of ashes that were his parents just hours before. Especially in a dead-end Mars crater like Deseado.”

 

Jet cringed. “I've heard of that sinkhole, never been there. So, the cops shipped you off to an orphanage?”

 

Spike shook his head. “There aren't any there. The system didn't give a shit about the swarms of kids left adrift, their family's cut down by the daily gang strikes. In a crater of black market depravity where the average age of survival fell short of maturity, it's a wonder the place isn't a ghost town. Anyway … none of that really matters beyond the critical point. That's where for the first time I saw the promise of a future when, as a twelve year old, I hustled Mao Yenrai.”

 

At the name Jet's head lowered. “That syndicate capo bounty you insisted on … he was … ”

 

“Yeah,” Spike stared straight ahead, fighting to suppress the sorrow from entering his voice. “The man whose resources forged me. The man who fully initiated me into the syndicate when I was only fifteen. The man who permitted me to enter the ranks at seventeen. The man who had his eyes set on me being his successor … yes, Jet. When I went to Tharsis that distant day ago it wasn't to collect _his_ bounty. I sought revenge on the man who murdered him.”

 

Jet cleared his throat. “Who was … Vicious?”

 

Spike tensed, his eyes narrowed into a hard glare. “At one time … my partner. That's how things started. But it didn't end that way.”

 

“Clearly.”

 

“We … ” His head lowered until his chin rested on his forearms, too many memories rushing back at once into a caustic tide. “We were … our partnership officially dissolved after Vicious returned from Titan, I could see in his eyes how much the bastard desired to be lauded as a hero for the crap he'd pulled, the lengths he'd gone to earn the Van's favor. But instead of rewarding him for false valor, they promoted us both at the same time. At twenty-two we were senior ranked enforcers, commanding two dozen men each. We only answered to Mao and the Van.”

 

Jet raised a hand. “You mean to tell me, you were one step below an executive captain?”

 

Numbly, he nodded. “That didn't really matter to me. Loyalty. Having a purpose … that's all that mattered, just a place I belonged. But it was never enough for Vicious. I should have seen it coming, I should have known his ambition aimed higher. Shit, the damn bastard shot my eye out and lied for years about it at my expense. Long story short, he laid an elaborate trap to destroy my reputation and when I fell into it, clinging to a mutual vow he no longer honored, I had no options left but to leave the syndicate. Something only possible through sacrificing everything I had been and  _dying_ . Years later, enough wasn't enough. Clearly, when he committed his coup, he decided to finish what he started. Mao's death … ” Spike closed his eyes, “he orchestrated it all to lure me out for my final blow.”

 

“Why you?”

 

“Because, I was the only one who discovered his weaknesses. Something he could not abide by.” The smoldering cigarette burnt out. Spike snubbed it on the floor. “In training we were sparring partners. I was the only one ever to hold my own against him. As a cocky boy I didn't comprehend how much that shamed him. To me it was all a game we played, striving to see how long we could evade the inevitable end. I never anticipated amounting to anything but an early grave. Meanwhile, he'd dreamed of ruling Tharsis, taking the syndicate to new heights … despite how much he loathed our equal skills, he tried to lure me to his side to undermine the Van. Something I could not do, for it would have broken my loyalty to the syndicate I served.”

 

“But you destroyed the syndicate.”

 

“By then Vicious had seized control, I could not in conscious let him take power. I knew what he would have done.”

 

“Julia … ”

 

The name stabbed him. Spike shivered, burying his face. “I've told you enough … leave that ghost to my past.”

 

Jet took another cigarette and tapped Spike's shoulder. He accepted it and let the lighter's flame touch the end as he inhaled. Leaning back, Jet rubbed his bald head. “That explains a lot. Especially the biggest question in my mind.”

 

“What?” Spike asked with the silence stretched too long.

 

Turning to face him, Jet smiled. “Why you always came back here. Never would have connected that, a syndicate teaching ironclad loyalty.”

 

Spike took a lungful of the smoke and sighed. “Told you, you'd be surprised.”

 

“That you did, partner. That you did.”

 


	13. Session 13

_ **Session 13** _

 

Faye counted the rivets in the ceiling of her room. The constant rumble of the engines penetrated her thoughts. She yearned for a chance to set foot on solid ground again. The last time had been on Earth when they'd collected Ed and Ein. It seemed like ages ago. Trapped out in hyperspace, the monotony was grating on her nerves. Her mind kept drifting back to the cryo chamber she'd woken from so many ago years now. She glanced at the beta cassette player, drawn to push the button for an uncounted time. To see the girl she used to be. But her heart told her there was no point. The world in those images was long gone, erased by countless impacts on the Earth's surface. Memories were all that remained to torment her of a life lost.

 

She climbed out of her bed and wandered toward the living room, stepping over Ed's sprawling limbs in the corridor. That child could sleep anywhere. Ein's ears popped up from over the back of the chair. _Good at least someone is up, even if it's just the damn dog._

 

She was about to cross to the fridge when a snickering laugh caught her attention. Peering over the back of the couch she found Spike reclining with a book in his bandaged hands. He glanced up at her and grinned. “Hey Faye, what does this guy think he's doing here on page eighty-three? Reads like the instructions for docking a ship.”

 

“I didn't even know a lunkhead like you could read.” She glanced at the cover of the book, _Vapor Lock Lover_ , and instantly snatched it from his hands. “Hey! That's mine!”

 

“You don't want people messing with your shit, don't leave it lying around.” Spike mock-pouted. “Dang, I was just getting to the out-of-this-world suspension of disbelief scene.”

 

“I'll have you know this was written by one of the best romance authors in the galaxy.”

 

“Uh huh. More like fantasy.” He smirked.

 

Faye knitted her brows. “Why, because the girl didn't deck the guy like always happens to you whenever you open your mouth?”

 

“Well, there is that part, but that's besides my point.”

 

Sitting on the edge of the table, she narrowed her eyes. “What would someone like you know? All I've ever seen you reading are those trashy magazines.”

 

Without a word, Spike got up and strode off toward the quarters.

 

“What a baby.” She shifted to the couch and opened her book. “I tell you Ein, you say one thing and—”

 

**Thump!**

 

She nearly jumped out of her skin. In the middle of the table lay a hardcover edition of the _Art of War_ , the page edges dogeared and stained.

 

Beside her, Spike eased back onto the couch, his arms behind his head. With half-lidded eyes he gazed up at the turning fan.

 

Faye pointed at the book and gaped. “I've never seen you … ”

 

“Yeah, well, I don't leave my shit laying around. It's been on the shelf in my quarters for regular reference the whole time. Before you showed up, Jet and I used to sit here and debate about some of the concepts. I always had to resist bringing this out to correct his constant misquotes.” He shrugged a shoulder. “That guy kinda gets the point, but can't remember prose worth a damn.”

 

“You seriously read this? I mean, all the way, cover to cover?”

 

“Yes, Faye. Multiple times. Why does that surprise you? It's not like you haven't seen me fight.”

 

“But … you have no strategy.”

 

“ _Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt._ ” Spike quoted with a wink. “By the way, that was required reading under my sensei. Not just skimming it either, we had to analyze the passages and apply them. The student who failed to comprehend, ended up face-down on the mat.”

 

“Bet you had a lot of black eyes.” She smirked.

 

“There you go making another poor call on a bet, Faye. People are supposed to learn from their mistakes not continuously repeat them. But you won't pick that lesson up from cheap romance novels.” He closed his eyes. Several minutes passed before Spike's soft snoring filled the living room.

 

Faye reached out and quietly as possible picked up the book, tip-toeing out of the room.

 

Spike cracked an eye open and grinned.

 

*

 

In Ganymede's premiere restaurant, Fannie Maldonaldo waved the empty plates from the table as the waiter attempted to collect and balance them all.

 

“Now for dinner.” She raised a hand.

 

The waiter, as well as the company seated at her table, gawked.

 

“What?” Fannie blotted her chin with a napkin. “That was merely the appetizer. After we complete the main course, we may conduct the business that has brought me to Ganymede, but not before.”

 

One of the startled gentlemen recovered first. “Of course, Dignitary.”

 

Nothing kept the whole of the restaurant from staring in rude fascination as the endless plates paraded from the kitchen all to be consumed by one individual. Enough food to feed a starving colony, so the rumor flew. She had heard it all before, and it didn't matter one bit. After all, the taxes paid for her meals.

 

At long last, a brown haired waiter walked up and presented a plate heaping with a custard dish. He lit it a-fire with a torch. The flames illuminated a small tattoo on the underside of his wrist reminding Fannie of the mushrooms she had consumed with her steak. The waiter ginned. “Compliments of a close friend of mine. He informed me of how I was to treat you, should you ever grace this restaurant.”

 

The moment the dish was laid before her, Fannie dug straight into it, hardly bothering to blow out the flames.

 

The waiter paused a moment longer. “If I may, following dinner, arrangements have been made for you and your company in one of our side parlors. You won't be disturbed.”

 

She held up the empty dish. “First bring me another of … whatever this is.”

 

“Of course.”

 

*

 

Beads of sweat dripped up Spike's forehead. He stared down at the backs of his hands, gripping the corner of the living room stair rail at the top of the platform by the main door. In a suspended handstand, he relished the surge of adrenaline knowing full well that if he toppled the wrong way the fall would be over a story.

 

Well, he had survived further, hadn't he?

 

The ceiling fan spun lazily, a slight breeze shifted the air against his bare torso. For days now he had forgone bandages, the skin healed enough that all that remained of the vast burn was a sprawling pinkish patch of irregular texture. Not pretty to look at, but no longer cringe-worthy. To protect the tender flesh of his palms, he had taken to wearing his leather flight gloves, finding they did the trick for the interim.

 

Recovering his strength had been arduous. But aside from sleeping and eating, there had been little else to occupy his time over the weeks traveling. This particular stunt had been a recent benchmark he hadn't even dreamed of trying days ago.

 

A bit of motion off to his left caught his attention. He looked between his tense arms to find Ed mimicking him, her legs flailing in the air. “Hehe!  _Bebop Bebop_ looks funny upside-down!”

 

Spike cocked an eyebrow, holding the pose without a reply.

 

“Ed can do it too, see?”

 

“Of course you can.” He half-lidded his eyes. “You're half my weight. That's a lot easier.”

 

From the couch, Faye glanced up from flipping through a magazine. “If you fall, there aren't enough splints on the ship for all the broken bones.”

 

He glanced at her upside-down and laughed. “Aww, was that genuine concern?”

 

She rolled her eyes back to the magazine. “Get down from there and put your shirt back on, lunkhead.”

 

Nimbly, Spike piked down to the platform and leaned on the railing, crossing his arms. “What's the matter, Faye?”

 

Ed giggled. “Faye Faye thinks Spike is too lanky.”

 

Her gaze flicked up, but Spike noted it wasn't to his slightly showing ribs. It settled on that patch of irregular skin. She ducked behind the magazine and deflected, “You'd think with the triple portions Jet is stuffing in you that you'd have gained weight by now.”

 

That was the wrong cover to leave wide open. She walked right into an opening that he couldn't resist. Cracking a wicked grin, Spike wandered down the stairs with his hands in his pockets. “I  _have_ put on weight, quite a bit actually.” He raised an appraising eyebrow her direction. “Apparently, so have you.”

 

Her nails dug into the cover of the magazine, tearing it. Her eyes flared wide.

 

Perched on the railing, Ed rocked back and forth singing, “Faye Faye gained weight weight!”

 

Faye threw the magazine at him. Spike swatted away the fluttering pages without breaking stride. Launching to her feet, she grabbed an empty beer bottle from the table and shook with fury. The more Spike offered his devilish grin, the higher the bottle rose. At last she pitched it at him. In a rapid spin, Spike evaded the missile. The bottle crashed against the wall. “Ohhh! You'll have to try harder than that!”

 

“Jerk!” Bright red, Faye turned and stomped out of the room to his laughter.

 

“Spike!” Jet's summons from the bridge turned his head.

 

Climbing the steps, he wandered in grinning his fool head off. “Yeah?”

 

Jet scowled from the navigation seat. “You're cleaning up whatever broke.”

 

He shrugged. “It was worth it.”

 

The scowl softened into curiosity as his voice dropped. “What did her face look like?”

 

“Ohhh, she was fuming. But she did ask for it.” Spike crossed his arms over his chest. “It's not my fault it's taking so long to get back in shape.”

 

With a short laugh, Jet shook his head. “Well, we're out of protein. That's not helping you any. We're three days out of Ganymede. How close are you to your goal?”

 

He flexed his hands. “Not one-hundred percent, but if I step things up I should still be able to kick some ass by then. You got a bounty in mind?”

 

“Nope.” He reclined in the seat. “But we'll need to bring in a decent one quickly. We're practically running on empty.”

 

Spike nodded. “I get it. I owe you back for going out of your way, partner. Well out of your way. You want to know if saving my ass was worth it.”

 

“Spike,” Jet glowered, “don't put words in my mouth.”

 

He half-lidded his eyes. “You ever wonder what would have happened if our paths had crossed while you were still a detective for the ISSP? Somehow I don't think you would have been condoning file-hacking to halt my execution.” Taking a position by a side window, Spike proceeded to launch into an aggressive routine of punches, swipes, and kicks.

 

Leaning on one elbow, Jet mused, “How long have you been contemplating that?”

 

Between air strikes, Spike replied, “Fourteen months, one week, and two days. Of course, the hacking part hadn't crossed my mind, just the rest of it.”

 

Jet crookedly grinned, watching Spike throw himself headlong into the routine.

 


	14. Session 14

_ **Session 14** _

 

The _Bebop_ gently rolled on the water by the dock. Jet carried a stack of crates followed by Bob who had a few more in his hands, setting them down in the middle of the living room with the rest. “Thanks, Bob. You didn't have to, but that saved me a trip back outside.” He cracked open one of the crates and pulled out two beers, tossing one to Bob. “Take a load off and let's catch-up. That was a long trip.”

 

Jet stepped around Ed's sprawling figure sound asleep on the floor before he flopped onto the couch and threw one arm across the back with a sigh. Bob sat down on the chair and took a sip of the beer before shaking his head. “I'm sorry for the nature of that, Jet. You know … ”

 

His voice faded off as a whistled tune echoed from the bridge. A moment later, Spike sauntered down the steps in his sweatpants after finishing his routine, scars and prison tattoos in full view. In one flight-gloved hand he held a pipe-wrench cocked against his shoulder as he turned and dropped down the second flight of stairs.

 

Jet casually took a swig of his beer as Bob sat stock still, only his eyes had followed the intrusion.

 

A full minute passed before an earsplitting scream broke the silence, followed by the rapid slap of Spike's bare feet up the stairs. He skidded around the corner with a roguish grin plastered on his face. Vaulting into the living room, in one step he cleared the crates like a pommel horse. Hellbent he caught the rung of a ladder and slithered up the service hatch.

 

Bob's eyebrow lifted. Before he could speak, a sopping wet Faye stomped into the room holding her bathrobe shut. “Spike, you bastard! Where the hell did you put the wrench? I wasn't finished with the shower yet!” She scrunched up her nose and glared at Jet. “Where is he?”

 

Laying his head back, Jet sighed. “Like I told you last time, I'm not taking sides in your childish prank war. But if either of you damage the ship, I'm going to stand on your shoulders while you fix it.”

 

Growling and cursing she stormed off to her quarters.

 

Bob cleared his throat. “Jet, is there something I shouldn't have witnessed here?”

 

With an air of innocence, he took a gulp of his beer before answering, “No. Everything's above board.”

 

“I find that hard to believe.” He took out his phone and started up a search as Jet tapped his finger on the back of the couch.

 

Spike dropped down from the hatch and glanced around, smirking. “That was too easy.”

 

“When are you two going to end this?” Jet put his beer on the table and stood up, folding his arms.

 

Spike laughed and padded easily across the room. “When she lets it go. You know how stubborn she is. Besides, I only shut off the hot water while she was hogging the shower.”

 

“It's been two weeks of this.”

 

“Yeah.” He slouched and chuckled. “Guess it has. Well, there wasn't much else to do other than to get a rise out of her, since she makes it so damn easy.”

 

Jet rubbed his bald head. “She's really gonna get you, kid.”

 

“Well, that is the point. Call it payback for all the times she dashed out on us. You know, emptying the safe, stealing the coolant, taking more than her fair share of the bounty.”

 

Hemming and hawing, Jet dropped a shoulder.

 

Spike half-lidded his eyes. “You worry too much. It's all in fun. It's not like it will go too far.”

 

_Click._

 

Spike tensed as he gazed wide-eyed over Jet's shoulder. Suddenly Jet had the overwhelming suspicion he was in the wrong place.

 

Faye's irate voice shot over his shoulder. “Step aside, Jet! It's payback time.”

 

Raising a hand, Spike plastered on his most charming smile. “Now, Faye you wouldn't … oh shit!” He turned on his heel and flung himself behind the crates just as a bullet punched into one.

 

“Faye!” Jet grabbed her wrist. “Now you've gone too far. This is the third time you've fired a gun inside my ship! I pry enough bullets out of your monocrafts without having to pull them out of my ship's interior.”

 

“Wait a second,” Spike interjected, peering over the crates, “you mean you didn't make her remove them from the corridor last time?”

 

“Shut up, Spike! You weren't here!” Jet snapped over his shoulder.

 

Fuming, Faye pried her wrist loose and shouted at her crouching target, “Sleep with one eye open. You've got it coming, laughing boy!” She stalked off in a huff.

 

“Well, that was invigorating.” Spike rolled his fingers on the crate, the grin faded the moment he locked eyes on Jet's brooding glare. “I was just about to head to the shower.”

 

“Good. And my wrench better be back where it belongs!”

 

“Yeah yeah.” Padding off into the ship, he waved over his shoulder.

 

Returning to his seat on the couch, Jet grabbed his beer. “There are times when I seriously question my sanity for letting those two stick around.”

 

Bob stared at the screen in his hand, his lip tight beneath the brush of a mustache. “I'm questioning it right now, Jet. What is _this_?” He held up Spike's file.

 

Jet wrinkled his brow in mock concentration before smiling. “Oh, turns out there was a clerical error. See? Told yah there's nothing amiss here.”

 

“Suuure.” He furrowed his brow and dropped the phone back in his pocket. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you can get into for this 'clerical error'?”

 

“Watched any good westerns lately?” Jet offered him a crooked smile, thrilled as the conversation veered away from the obvious, down various tangents.

 

Gradually, Bob had relaxed. That was until Spike wandered in dressed in his suit, his hair still slightly damp. He grabbed a beer from the opened crate and flopped back on the couch beside Jet, idly shuffling a deck of cards. While Bob silently watched with a raised eye-brow, Spike proceeded to lay out a game of solitaire. Jet had to give Spike credit for his blatant disregard for the critical stare, Bob's jaw hung loose beneath his mustache.

 

Jet broke the silence. “Pretty ballsy to take a shower after that stunt.”

 

In the middle of shifting a stack, Spike remarked, “Not when I had the pipe-wrench in with me, it's not. Don't worry, it's back where it belongs now.” He glanced up at Bob. “Yo.”

 

Bob tugged on his cap, a bit red in the face. “Interesting to finally meet you in person.”

 

“We've already met.” He cracked a smug grin. “Although I was a little tied up at the time.” Bob and Jet both glanced at Spike's exposed wrists, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, like before. Only now, that left the prison tattoo visible as well as the faded scars from the restraints. Before leaving the ship he was going to have to come up with a way of covering that and the one on his neck or it could spell trouble. At the very least a lot of questions. “Hey Jet, any chance of swinging a deal and getting my old Jericho out of evidence? I really liked that gun.” His grin only twisted deeper as both of them tensed at the question. “I'm joking. I know that'd be too high a gamble. There are a few decent pawnshops around here. I'll have to see what I can find.”

 

Jet heaved a sigh. “For a second I thought you were serious.”

 

“Would you have?” He glanced out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Hell no!”

 

*

 

Spike closed up the stack of spades and reshuffled the deck, still idly listening to the conversation between Jet and his buddy. Most of it amounted to shooting the shit. He leaned back and set a foot on the table, crossing his legs while the cards flipped effortlessly between his fingers. Soon enough he would hit the city and drop into a handful of well-stocked pawnshops. Of course it would help if Jet had a bounty in mind. So far most of what he'd uncovered were small frys not worth the time, or the leads were a fair distance off.

 

“We're kinda bogged down at the moment, that's why they sent me here to Ganymede.” Bob grumbled.

 

“Got a tough case?”

 

“Hundreds.”

 

Spike's interest perked. Though, he remained visibly focused on the cards.

 

With a shrug, Bob continued, “The pattern grew too slow, these guys were careful at first. It was only in the last week that we picked up on it when a group of visiting dignitaries vanished without a trace. Since then investigations have tied in hundreds of disappearances scattered around various Ganymede cities. Always in the same neighborhoods. The victims are gone in mid-daylight. They're not here on Ganymede anymore, we had a signal off a dignitary's phone, a Fannie Maldonaldo. It blinked out after leaving orbit.”

 

“That's odd. No ransoms?” Jet rubbed his bearded chin as Bob shook his head. “Who would want to kidnap hundreds of people?”

 

In mid-shuffle Spike made a rude noise. “Well, I could name a few.” When the weight of their silent stares remained, he stilled the cards and dropped the stack on the table. Taking out a cigarette, he got down to business. “First lets look at the syndicates. Red Dragons and White Tigers are out, thanks to Vicious's tirade. Neither is viable any longer. The Blue Snakes had a tendency to take 'volunteers' off the street while testing new technology. Usually in small batches, though. Given the recent vacancy in larger threats, they _might_ be getting bolder. The Clan, who will gladly deal in anything, even pounds of flesh, are the current big boys. Heard that in the chatter around Quidlivun. Of course there are always smaller local gangs, and pseudo-syndicates itching to make a name. There's always a chance one of those is making a power play. Getting word about that you only grease the right palm, or point a gun at the right guy who values his face.” He paused and leveled his gaze at Jet. “Wouldn't put it beyond the government, either.”

 

“Sadly, I have to agree with my partner.” Jet leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm.

 

Bob crossed his arms. “You can't be thinking that.”

 

“Why the hell not?” Spike half-lidded his eyes. “Aside from my current distaste in the justice system, they were willing to cover up that bullshit they pulled on Titan. All those guinea pig soldiers. Wasn't that a rude awaking when that _non-existent experiment_ hit Alba city.”

 

“It wasn't that bad.”

 

“Speak for yourself.” Spike laced his fingers behind his head, continuing with a sarcastic edge, “Sure, let's take a look at the actions of this _honorable_ organization. They discovered they had the means with which to suppress their escaped nano-tech, and they immediately rushed to do the right thing. Cover their ass by locking her up and letting the public die at the hands of a man driven mad by their own careless hands. That's infallible justice right there.”

 

Jet lifted a shoulder to Bob. “I'm sorry, but he does have a point. The government didn't even clean up their own mess. They handed it over to the bounty hunters, probably hoping it would go away quietly.”

 

Spike barked a laugh. “Yeah. Quiet like the Mars Army dog fighting with a civilian outside of Alba city! If I hadn't already known who was behind it, that would have been the ultimate red flag. Jet, did we ever send the Army the bill for wrecking my _Swordfish_?”

 

Jet glowered. “No. You know they took a cut out of the reward for their three crafts, the damage to the intercity highway, and the climate tower.”

 

“Alright. I admit I intentionally shot the climate tower. But the rest of that damage was from those hotshots. Technically, they wrecked their own ships.” He lifted a hand. “Sheesh, you put your own ass on the line saving a whole planet from a twistingly agonizing death and what do you get? The bill.”

 

“With your methods you should be used to that by now, Spike.” Jet folded his arms.

 

“Well then, next time I'll ask the bad guy to set his gun down and play nice. I'm sure that will do the trick.” His smarmy smile earned an embarrassed groan from Jet. Leaning back, Spike savored his cigarette in the reigning silence.

 

Bob cleared his throat. “It doesn't matter at this point, we can't figure out how they're getting off the planet. Normal space travel would take far too long. And the hypergate customs scanner would catch something this big. That's why they opened it up to bounty hunters this morning.”

 

Spike didn't even open his eyes. “There are no customs checks on the dark gates.”

 

“Dark gates?” Bob and Jet said in unison.

 

His eyes snapped open as he edged forward. “You mean to tell me that the ISSP doesn't know about the dark gates? Shit! I thought they just knew enough to stay away.”

 

“What are you talking about?” asked Bob.

 

“Hey Ed, wake up. I need you to hack something.”

 

On the floor, Ed yawned noisily and collected her limbs, slinking up to her computer. “Nyuuuhhh?”

 

“Alright, look up the codeword _bookworm_.”

 

Bob scratched his head, Jet nodded toward Spike, “Bob, you're about to see why I put up with all the damage bills and antics from him.”

 

The screen spread out with various links. Spike peered over Ed's shoulder and pointed to one down at the end. Ed hovered over it, “Point and click?”

 

“Yup. That's the one. It's restricted. So, you'll need to work your magic. Once you have it, put it on the big screen, kay?”

 

She bobbed back and forth, her fingers blurring over the keys. “Bookworm, cookworm, eat them up. Yum! Here we are! Ziiiiip!”

 

On the big screen an intergalactic map spreed out pockmarked by a series of gates removed from the regular network. Spike rested an arm on the back of the couch. “Welcome to the dark gate system.”

 

Jet leaned forward and rubbed the back of his neck. “They're out in dead space.”

 

“Of course they are. If you don't want an average joe to stumble on a secret system, would you put it right out in the open? Or tuck it away where only those who want to find it, will.”

 

“How did you know? How long has this been there? Who—”

 

Spike chuckled. “Jet, I used to go through there all the time when I was running contraband for Mao. That was early. These gates have existed for almost as long as the interplanetary government's.”

 

“Are they safe?”

 

“I'd say mechanically safer. They've never blown up, which is more than the government can say.”

 

Bob exhaled in a whistle. “Damn, this must've been pricey to build.”

 

Spike flipped a hand. “Anything the government can build, a well-funded syndicate can accomplish ten-times more efficiently. The trick of this is two things, as long as a ship has a scrysynch device plugged into the nav-system and the current passcode for the gates, it's fine. Try to get in without those and the ship is incinerated. The codes changed regularly for a number of reasons. The biggest reason, a syndicate deciding they didn't want to pay the access fee. The syndicate that owns the gate system uses it as a sole income. No payment, no code. They'd change it, let the good standing organizations know. The others fry.”

 

“How can a syndicate survive with just a toll fee?”

 

“It's not a toll.” Spike watched as Bob walked to the screen and scrutinized the pathways, tracing how many different ways they connected, far more complex then the regular gates. “It's an access fee. Years ago when I was still with the Red Dragons, Labyrinth, the syndicate who built it, charged five-hundred million woolongs annually per syndicate for the code. Trust me, the organizations pay it to evade being pestered by the ISSP.”

 

Jet shook his head. “Why didn't you tell me about this?”

 

“Because I haven't had the passcode since I left the syndicate. And because of another thing, it's swarming with black market arms dealers. Not precisely a friendly place to bounty hunters.”

 

“Do you still have that … synch-thing?”

 

“The scrysynch? Yeah, think it's around here somewhere. Took it out of the _Swordfish_ after I defected from the syndicate. Didn't want to risk frying.”

 

Bob turned and shook his head at Jet. “Alright, I get your partnership now.”

 

Spike grinned. “Still think that Jet should have done the right thing and left me to my un-judged sentence?”

 

“No. I admit it, I'm right here with you.”

 

“Good.” He narrowed his eyes. “So … how much is the bounty on tracking down the body snatchers?”

 

 


	15. Session 15

_ **Session 15** _

 

Faye wandered onto the bridge and leaned on the navigation console kicking one heel up as she cocked her head. “Jet, have you seen my money card? I can't seem to find it?”

 

He glanced up from the screen filled with the missing persons files Bob had sent him.. “Did you feed it to the ponies?”

 

“No.” She flashed bright red, matching her shirt.

 

“But you were going to.” He folded his arms. “You're never gonna learn.”

 

“I'm serious, Jet. I had a decent amount on there for once.” She pouted.

 

“Well, I haven't seen it.” Returning to the screen, Jet flipped between the files trying to pry out a common thread between them all: Fannie, Luke, Karen, Buford, Shawneeka, Meredith, Zach … all different locations, no common backgrounds or business associations. Nothing seemed obvious.

 

Faye glanced around the bridge, something else was missing. “Where's Spike?”

 

“Pawnshop. Said he needed a new firearm.”

 

“Should he really be out there on his own right now?”

 

“He can handle himself. Besides, he's legally out, as far as the ISSP knows according to his record. As long as he doesn't pull anything shady I don't think he's at too much of a risk getting hauled back in.”

 

Shady … a thought crystallized in his head.

 

Slowly he lifted his gaze to Faye, she cocked her head. “What?”

 

“You don't think … ” Jet reached into his pocket to find his own card safe and sound. He huffed a laugh and shook his head.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Oh, I think you'll find out soon enough, Faye.” Jet leaned back and crossed his arms, unwilling to share the revelation lest he be subjected to her screaming fit. With Spike's account seized during the arrest, how would he be paying for his new gun?

 

*

 

Spike glanced up at the Trigger Pawnshop sign swinging in the breeze. His hand in his pocket grasped the palm sized piece of plastic. Beside it, a wad of woolongs withdrawn from the account. Pawnshops liked cold, hard cash. At the moment, Spike embraced the importance of no electronic trail. He pushed through the door, eyeing the store contents as he slouched through the aisle doing his damnedest to look unremarkable. A bit tricky with a bandage covering his left forearm, and another one taped over the matching tattoo on the left side of his neck. Hell, he'd been used to wearing shit like this after getting thrashed. The only difference now was the reason.

 

He waved a hand at the owner, a dower old man servicing a gun behind the counter. He nodded. “Somethin' I can help you with, boy?”

 

_Boy? Do I look like a child?_ Spike suppressed the urge to correct the man with his fist. After all, he might have to negotiate, and punching the guy wasn't likely to put him in a good mood. “Just looking for a nice heavy duty side arm.”

 

“Well I got a lot of 'em along that wall there. Heavy duty? What for?”

 

“I'm a bounty hunter.” Catching the shop owner's wry grin, Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out his registration.

 

The man's eyes widened. “Well, takes all kinds, don't it. Go ahead and check 'em out. Let me know if you see anything that catches your eye. Every one of them is either a straight shop-buy or past its hock.”

 

Striding along the guns displayed on the wall, Spike passed by the usual selection of cheaper grade guns. He needed something with a good heft to it. Power and accuracy were of utmost importance. Of course there were the Glocks, and the SIG Sauers, a good handful of Berettas. He picked a couple of them up and experimented with the grip. They felt like toys. He found himself pining for the missing weight.

 

“Don't suppose you have a Jericho laying around?” He sighed, knowing the chances of that.

 

“Sure do.” The man reached under the counter and set the gun down with a thump.

 

Spike crossed to the counter, picking it up. Now that was more like it. The metal weight settled into his grip with a familiarity. Could have been her twin. Turning it in the dim light of the shop he admired the custom trim of the well kept up piece. The same model he used to carry. He blinked and did a double take, bringing the gun closer.

 

003555\. The serial number on the gun … it was  _his_ ! Quelling his shock, least the shop-owner glimpse it and ask a few uncomfortable questions, Spike cleared his throat. “This is closer to what I was looking for. Someone kept this up rather nicely. Where did it come from?”

 

In mid assembly of the Glock he was working on, the man didn't even look up. “Heh, fella who came in and hocked it just ran out of time to claim it this morning. Think he was in the ISSP. Anyway, hadn't even had a chance to get it out there on the shelf.”

 

Spike dropped his hand below the counter to hide the fist. So some schmuck at ISSP had stolen evidence from lock-up and hocked it for the cash? Seriously? Well, at least it worked in his favor. He wouldn't be leaving without this gun. Even if he had to shoot this guy. Turning it in the light he nodded. “No need to put it out there. How about we settle on a price?”

 

Suddenly, the man lost interest in his task. Full attention on Spike, he folded his hands and grinned.

 

A short time later, Spike exited the shop with his trusted firearm tucked snugly under his jacket. Right where she belonged. That was the benefit of the pawnshops. Most didn't ask too many questions once the wad of cash came out. Well, it seemed a lucky enough day. He took advantage of no longer being confined to prison and meandered around the city streets.

 

A pair of ISSP officers approached, their eyes casing the sidewalk. With his hands in his pockets, Spike sauntered on by swallowing every ounce of dread that they might stop him for some reason or another. He'd gone half a block past them when he heard, “Stop!”

 

_Crap! What was that I said about luck?_ He froze and slowly turned. The officers had grabbed a man and pressed him against the wall. They pried a purse from his hands. “Yeah, look at the scar. This is the guy alright!”

 

Spike exhaled and turned back the direction he'd been headed putting on an air innocence.  _Scar huh?_ His hand strayed to the patch of burnt skin beneath his shirt.  _Shit! That's all I need is someone to make a connection. Between these stupid tattoos and Vicious's scar made worse by those bastard guards—dammit._

 

He glanced up at a sign.  **Dr. Havens, Cosmetic Surgery** _._ Well, it's not like these would vanish on their own. Swallowing his pride, he opened the door and slipped in. The entire place felt utterly alien. White shiny walls with no sharp corners. Everything was soft and flowing, with little nooks built into it. Tiny birds were superimposed on everything, winging in flocks to some unknown target. 

 

Immediately a receptionist greeted him with a plastic smile. “Hi, sugar. What can we do for a hunk like you?”

 

Spike blinked slowly and looked back over his shoulder to find no one else there. “Me? You mean me?”

 

“Yeah.” She leaned on her elbows, fluttering her eyelashes. “Mmm hmm, I sure do.”

 

Somehow he got the impression she was undressing him with her eyes. He cleared his throat and jiggled a finger, pointing up. “Ahh, well for starters, you can talk to me and not my tie. But I was wondering if I could talk to someone about getting a scar removed.”

 

She suddenly pouted. “Oh, you poor dear! Sure thing. Let me call up Dr. Havens. You're lucky, he's between clients now.” On her stilettos she waddled back, leaving Spike to stare uncomfortably at the blindingly white waiting room.

 

He didn't wait for long before the clack of her heels announced her arrival. “Follow me, sugar.” Just down the hall, Spike was shown into an exam room where a middle-aged man in a sweater vest adjusted his glasses and held out a hand.

 

“Dr. Jarred Havens, at your service. I hear you have questions about scar removal? That's an easy process. Tell me your name and why would you like it removed?”

 

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he fidgeted with his shirt. “Spike Spiegel, and uh … well … it's a long story and I don't care to be constantly reminded about it. So, I figured if there was a quick way to just smooth things out, I can just … you know, leave it all behind.”

 

Havens cocked his head. “Embarrassed?”

 

Heat rose to Spike's face before he could stop it. Shit, this had been a mistake. He turned toward the door.

 

“Easy, it's alright.” Havens held up a hand. “Let me see what we're dealing with. You're moving alright, so it can't be too bad.”

 

Slowly, Spike tugged his hem free and lifted the shirt high enough to show the roughed patch of skin stretching from his spine across his side just under his rib cage. Discolored against his pale flesh, it was more than obvious in the bright lights. The doctor's eyes widened as he came closer, his fingers probing it. On contact, Spike flinched away, the flesh still far more tender than he wished to admit, even to himself.

 

“My, if this isn't a deep mess. Looks like an underlying injury and someone else added insult to it.” He paused and scrunched his eyes. “Multiple insults. Are these electrical burns?”

 

It took every ounce of Spike's discipline not to pull away from the inquisitive doctor's fingers. And even more not to strike him. But somehow, he managed to swallow his pride and remain standing there on display. “Seriously, Doc, does it matter what happened? I just want it gone. Ok? Can you make that happen or not?”

 

Havens glanced over at the table and the cabinet of medications, he reached up and rubbed his chin with a finger. When he flipped his hand the underside of his wrist revealed a tattoo, a bird with spread wings on a mushroom. Spike blanched, his hand covering the bandage on his arm. The one concealing the condemning tattoo.  _Shit this is a mistake! What if he sees the prison tattoos and reports me?_

 

The surgeon's voice snapped him back to the present. “I understand how this must be a serious slash to your pride.” Spike grimaced at the choice of words. “Something this complicated would require more than a local procedure.”

 

Taking a step back, Spike's heart rate increased as he threw a look at the cabinet. The anesthetic terminology more than a little familiar to him.

 

“We'd need to put you fully under for a while to repair the damage.”

 

Images took over his vision … unpleasant, disconcerting. Waking up in the frigid confines of the prison cell. No one explaining what had happened. His side throbbing. The weight of a collar locked around his neck. The tattoo on his arm condemning him to spend the rest of his life confined like an animal. Spike heard his pulse in his voice. “Uhh. Discomfort isn't a problem. I'd rather stay awake.”

 

“While the procedure isn't particularly painful, we must look out for the well-being of our patients. The reconstruction is a bit stressful.”

 

“Look, I'm a tough guy. I'll be fine.” His voice had managed to sneak up close to an octave. He edged closer to the door.

 

Havens followed, his eyes hungrily staring at Spike. “Please, you clearly need help.”

 

Wrenching open the door, Spike shook his head. “Not from you. I'm not going under!” Not even tucking his shirt in, he rushed out the door. Panic clung to his heels.

 

 


	16. Session 16

_ **Session 16** _

 

By the time Spike waltzed onto the _Bebop_ he'd completely masked his shattered composure. Passing through the living room, in one slick move he slipped Faye's card and a poker chip sized device on the table in front of her. Out of the corner of his eye he caught her glare over the fashion magazine she'd been reading. “What the heck is this?”

 

He paused, one foot on the step up to the bridge. Sidelong he shrugged, hands in his pockets. “Call it a thank you for the cash advance.”

 

She picked it up and cocked a brow. Though it was about the same size as a poker chip, it clearly wasn't. Made of composites it had a row of tiny switches set into the side.

 

Spike leaned on the railing. “It surprises me that a con-artist like you wouldn't know a roulette switch when you held one.”

 

The color drained from her face. “Roulette switch? But … these were all destroyed!”

 

“Sure they were.” He winked, knowingly. “But somehow they keep turning up in the right market. Swung a deal at the pawn shop. Have fun keeping that under the table.”

 

Halfway across the room she gasped, “What's the range on this thing?”

 

“Roughly ten-feet. Just don't make yourself too lucky on stopping the wheel.”

 

She danced in a circle squealing with delight. “Oooo! I've never had such a fun toy! This can override the casino's rigging?”

 

He nodded and continued up the stairs with his hands in his pockets, a slight smile grew as he heard her gloating about all the money in her future. “Hope she knows when to quit. Heh, what am I talking about. Course she doesn't.”

 

On the bridge he discovered Jet leaning at the navigation console still digging through files. His eyes opened wide when the alert for opening the bay flashed on the screen. “Where's Faye headed?”

 

Leaning on the side of the console, Spike chuckled. “To play with her new toy.”

 

Jet toggled the switch releasing the door and glared over his shoulder at Spike. “Should I be worried?”

 

Patting his pocket, Spike offered a wry grin. “Nope. She won't be long. Doesn't have much to play with. Alright, so you get anything with these files?”

 

On the floor beside the console, Ein lifted his head and squeaked a yawn. He levered to his paws and wriggled up into Jet's lap.

 

“Ein! Knock it off!” He lifted his arms out of the way.

 

Spike chuckled. “You ever think of enrolling the mongrel in obedience school?”

 

With a dark glare Jet eyed Spike. “There's another stray I'd do that to first.”

 

Half-hooded eyes and a smile met the glare. “There's no hope for Faye.”

 

“Errrgh!” Jet folded his arms, the elbows touching the corgi's back. Ein just opened his maw in a bright grin at the contact even though Jet's expression soured further.

 

“Relax, pard. Don't wanna blow a gasket.”

 

“You try sitting down reading close to a hundred files looking for a pattern.”

 

Spike flipped around and leaned back on the console. “Patterns aren't my thing, or so you always tell me. Maybe you should ask the dog.”

 

Flicking his ears up, Ein woofed softly. On Jet's lap he leaned forward and planted a paw on the kepboard tipping it across the keys. Files started to flip up the screen.

 

“Damn it, Ein!” Swiftly, Jet plucked him up by the scruff and deposited him on the floor. “You're messing up what I sorted. Now I have to start over again.”

 

Bursting into laughter, Spike doubled over.

 

On the floor, Ein snuffed a couple of times. He cocked his head and scrambled toward Spike, growling and snapping. It left Spike darting back, flailing a hand as he tired to dodge the furry missile. “Hey! Knock it off, you stupid dog!”

 

Ein leapt and grabbed onto his jacket, tugging it off in a fierce tug of war. He thrashed the garment against the deck of the ship. Both Spike and Jet stared in shock as a small device ricocheted off the console.

 

Spike picked it up and wrinkled his brow.

 

Leaning closer, Jet rubbed his chin. “Is that a tracking bug?”

 

“Sure is.”

 

“How'd it get on you?”

 

“Dunno.” He narrowed one eye. “But I got an idea to find out.”

 

*

 

The sun hung low on the horizon painting Ganymede with a monocromatic paintbrush. Alongside the wharf, Spike and Jet hung back in the shadows vigilantly watching a figure slumped off a loading dock.

 

Jet grumbled, fingering his Walther P99, “It's been hours. Surprised you're not napping.”

 

“Someone slapping a bug on me without me catching them is enough to keep me awake. I want to see who had the balls big enough for that move.” Spike's leaned forward like a wolf on target. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. “What was their goal?”

 

“I admit, it's a seriously impossible move. Specially lately.” He eyeballed the slumped figure and shook his head. “But seriously, you think that bum looks like you?”

 

“No.” Spike grunted. “That wasn't the point, it was … ” He held up a hand and pointed to a figure shifting though the shadows. Silence reigned as Jet and Spike watched the stealthy approach. The man's face illuminated by a phone in his hand, no one else followed him.

 

Spike reached back and pulled out the Jericho, his eyes never leaving the target. Jet's jaw hung loose for a split second as he spied the familiar weapon. But there was no time for a question. A heartbeat later, Spike slipped out, flowing through the shadows.

 

The brown-haired man paused over the bum, wrinkling his nose. “Seriously? Uuuugghh, I get stuck with the worst pickups.”

 

He never saw the Jericho as Spike pistol-whipped him across the back of the head. His body flopped forward, face first into the lap of the filthy bum. Jet rolled his limp body over while Spike drew a bead just in case.

 

“Well, pretty boy here is seeing a galaxy of stars.” Jet glanced up.

 

“Good. I meant to knock him out.” He slipped the gun away and bent over to pick him up. “Now we can interrogate his ass back on the _Bebop_ when he wakes up.”

 

“You mean **if** he wakes up.”

 

 


	17. Session 17

_ **Session 17** _

 

Secured in the make-shift brig, their visitor had yet to wake. Killing time, they sat on the bridge parsing through what info they had. Under the mountain of files, Spike's eyelids began to droop as the hours passed with hardly a shred of an obvious connection. Half-asleep, he jerked upright when a call came over the bridge communications. His hand brushed the keyboard and accidentally answered. Faye appeared, blushing bright red. _“Uhhh, Spike? You remember when you told me to be careful?”_

 

He groaned. “You got caught, didn't you.”

 

“ _No. Not exactly. But it uhhh … well.”_

 

“You placed too many bets and the wheel overrode the signal.” Spike smirked.

 

She blushed deeper, tucking her head down.

 

He exhaled a sigh. “Seriously, Faye. Even when the odds are tipped in your favor you still find a way to lose.”

 

“ _I have another problem. My fuel cell ran out and I'm stuck at the casino. I can't buy one without any cash. Can someone … you know … ”_

 

“Run a spare cell out to you?” He half-hooded his eyes. “You're lucky I'm such a nice guy and don't just leave your ass in orbit.”

 

In a blink she shed the shyness like a second skin. Pointing at the screen she snarled, _“A nice guy? Where are the woolongs from my account?”_

 

Spike didn't bat an eyelash. “It's been invested in future bounty hunts. I hear the returns are solid. You should be thanking me.”

 

“ _I'm gonna—”_ He cut her off.

 

Getting up, Spike shook Jet awake at the console on his way by. “I gotta run out to the casino for a bit.”

 

Jet rubbed his eyes. A fat stack of woolongs sat on the keyboard. “What the hell, where did this come from?”

 

Spike lit a cigarette and paused, looking over his shoulder. “Faye's debt for all the times we pulled her ass out of dodge, considering I'm about to do it again. I'd bet that after the trip we're low on fuel. Might want to resupply. Once sleeping beauty wakes we might get a lead and not have time.”

 

He held up the woolongs. “She's gonna be pissed.”

 

“She already is.” With a shrug, Spike dropped down the steps. “That's why I'm gonna take my time with the preflight check. I told her I would come. Didn't say when. I think she forgets when she insisted on staying here that we're a team, means we all pitch in instead of feeding woolongs to the casino.”

 

For the first time since that fateful night, Spike climbed into the _Swordfish's_ cockpit. He slid into place as easily as the gloves on his hands. After the full systems check he fired her up. The engine answered, vibrating with a familiar cadence. Spike smiled, “Nice to hear your voice again, old girl.”

 

Hitting the com, he barked, “Ready.”

 

“ _Alright. See you in a few.”_ Jet's voice crackled over the com. A moment later the bay doors slid open. Broad daylight flooded in. 

 

Cranking the throttle, Spike opened her up. The  _Swordfish_ shot into the sky in a tight spiral, up into the deepening blue.

 

*

 

In the ship bay of the orbiting casino, Spike leaned against the  _Swordfish_ parked right next the  _Redtail_ . After unloading the fuel cell all he could do was watch the amusement. Some mousy broad in a fine tailored suit practically assaulted Faye with a line of crazy rhetoric better suited for one of those cult temples. Well, he could step forward and help her. But in truth he already had, the fuel cell at his side proof enough. Besides, if the likes of Jet and he couldn't convince her, the rantings of some spunky little stranger wouldn't make a dent.

 

“Can't you see the damage that gambling can bring? I promise you, even that vice can be tamed by the right hands.” The suit piped as though reading a self-help pamphlet.

 

Faye rounded on her, leaning forward like a hissing cat. “Listen sister, I can stop anytime I want to. Keep it up and I'll show you a right hand!”

 

Grinning, Spike pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Yup, she had this.

 

“But, salvation is—”

 

“You've been at this for over an hour!” With a sneer, Faye drew back her fist and held it primed above the girl. “Let me play the odds that you can run as fast as your mouth can!”

 

The suit held up both palms, cringing. Emitting a squeak, she turned and darted for the door.

 

A second later, Faye glared across the deck at Spike. “About damn time!”

 

He only broadened his grin and waved, the cigarette smoldering between his lips. “I'm not a delivery boy.”

 

“No shit.” She stomped toward him, pointing at the cell. “Come on, let's get it installed and get out of here.”

 

He didn't move. His half-hooded eyes watched her broiling temper.  _She's a big girl._

 

She tapped her foot and snarled. “Well?”

 

“Well what?” He shrugged. “It's right next your foot.”

 

Bristling, she grabbed it. “Jerk!” And lumbered over to the  _Redtail_ . “Chivalry is dead.”

 

He chuckled. “Chivalry was for ladies, Faye.”

 

That earned him a rather loud growl.

 

“By the way, that _was_ a compliment if you think about it.”

 

Clearly she wasn't in the contemplative mood. Securing the fuel cell she snapped at him, “Didn't anyone tell you that the mummy look was out of fashion?”

 

“Never been one for trends.” He lifted a shoulder, watching her get into the _Redtail_ and shut the hatch. She offered nothing more than a swift hostile glare as she lifted off the deck. He craned his neck and tracked her with a dry laugh. “Damned if I save her hide, screwed if I don't. Yup. Nothing's changed. Well, if she thinks she's beating me back to the _Bebop_ she has another thing coming.”

 

Before breaking into atmo, the  _Swordfish_ left the  _Redtail_ in its wake, Spike's com squealing with a string of invectives. 

 

He barely turned the engine off in _Bebop's_ ship bay before Jet broke over the com. _“Pretty boy woke up.”_

 

Opening the cockpit, Spike pulled off his gloves and glanced out at the speck in the distance that was the _Redtail_. “Oh yah? He talking yet?”

 

“ _I got a name out of him, Ivory Arsenault. The rest is rather … interesting. I think you might wanna have a few words with him.”_

 

“Keep him talking. Be right there.” Climbing out, Spike sauntered through the deck and made his way straight to the storage room they'd put Ivory in.

 

Seated on a crate, Jet glanced up and grinned. Under the lights, the brown-haired man's eyes gleamed a bit too brightly. He stared at Jet, rocking back and forth as far as his hands cuffed behind his back would let him. Not far at all. His distant voice rambled, “Everything can be fixed. All it takes is the right hands. The right hands. Bring enough to the table, that's all it takes.”

 

Spike lifted an eyebrow. “Meant to knock him out, not scramble his brains.”

 

Ivory's eyes flicked up to Spike. “All in the mind. Everything. It's all in the mind! Come to him, he knows the way. Bring enough damaged goods to the fixer, and he will open the pathway to the gate. Oh winged salvation of glorious heights!”

 

“Eh … heh.” Spike lit a fresh cigarette, passing another to Jet. “Interesting isn't the word I would use. This guy's a full suit shy of a deck.”

 

Puffing out a breathe of smoke, Jet nodded.

 

The clack of Faye's shoes in the hall silenced any further remarks. The moment she entered the room she pointed a finger at Spike and shouted, “With all the woolongs you stole from me you could at least afford some manners.”

 

He shrugged, “When I pay you back, invest in some common sense, kay?”

 

Jet groaned into his hand. “Seriously, will you two give it a rest?”

 

“He set me up!” She bristled.

 

“Don't lie. I told you to quit while you were ahead. It's not my fault you pissed off lady luck and lost everything.”

 

Ivory turned, writhing in his bindings. “Greed. Oh horrific greed. The stripper of a man's true worth, destroyer of security.”

 

Wrinkling her brow, Faye pointed slowly, “Who's the nutcase?”

 

“A lead,” remarked Jet.

 

Her eyes narrowed. She grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him to the side, staring at his wrist. She pulled back his sleeve. “Hey, that crazy woman who chewed my ear off had something just like this on her wrist.”

 

Spike jolted upright. He bent forward and stared at it. Shock gripped him like a bucket of ice water. “Uhh, not the first time I've seen that. There was a guy, a surgeon. Havens was his name. He had one too.”

 

Vacantly smiling, Ivory muttered, “Havens said to chase the one afflicted by pride.”

 

“A surgeon?” Jet stood up and narrowed his eyes.

 

Spike glanced away, his hand clasping the bandage concealing the tattoo on his neck. “I … uhh … kinda stopped in and asked about … umm … scar removal?”

 

“You didn't!” Dropping his jaw, Jet stepped forward. “If he report—”

 

“Relax.” He pointed down. “I only showed him my side. I'm not _that_ much of a lunkhead. Besides, I got a weird vibe off of him. He was a bit too eager. And yeah, on his wrist he had a mushroom with a bird.”

 

Ivory whispered. “Starling. It's a starling that guides the spirit.”

 

All three stared at him wide-eyed. Faye broke the silence, “What the hell is a starling?”

 

Jet rubbed his chin, his fingers sinking into his short beard. “Wait a second. Starlings and mushrooms. There was an old Earthling story about some utopia. Started with a Z. Zu … no, Zera? Nope.” He tapped his forehead with a finger. “Zerzura! That's it!”

 

“Zerzura. The white halls of perfection.” Ivory cooed. Spike and Faye wrinkled their brows as he continued. “Follow the little birdies, the starlings know the way. When they bring enough souls to salvation they too will be let though, the key clasped in their beaks. Oh sweet master, here lies a ship of depraved souls crying out for salvation. Let me bring them to you. Open your gates to me that I may see perfection for myself.”

 

“Is this guy for real?” Faye muttered.

 

“Spike knocked his lights out.”

 

“That explains a lot.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Spike grunted, “You forgot to mention the tracking bug. Alright, so we got a bunch of these salvation birdbrains and some mystical place.”

 

Ivory nodded. “Humanity is plagued by numerous sins. Remove the sin and perfection is reached. Don't you want to be perfect?”

 

“Sure pal. Innocent as a baby.” Spike cocked a grin. “Yeah, that'll be the day! I think salvation is a bit beyond my soul now. The only church I've been in I leveled with a grenade on my way out the stained-glass window.”

 

“All damaged goods can be repaired by the fixer, the hands that understand the soul.” Ivory chimed.

 

Faye soured. “Damaged goods? You think that means people?”

 

“Could be.” Jet leaned forward. “Is that right? You and your birdbrains grab sinful folk and deliver them to your friend?”

 

“Salvation at his hands. Only through that will the human race be cleansed.”

 

Spike shuddered. “Well, that answers that question. All right, you know where this Zerzura is as the starling flies?”

 

Ivory's eyes unfocused. “The gate to the white halls is a diamond floating in the rough. Round and round in the river of stone. River … of … stone.” His head rolled forward.

 

Scratching his head, Spike glanced at Jet. “Talk about a shot in the dark!”

 


	18. Session 18

_ **Session 18** _

 

Ed wavered her hands over the computer, gazing through her goggles with an expression of glee as she sang, “Birdies and mushrooms. Ancient lost cities. Camel spit camel spit, twister …. weee! Sand in the shorts!”

 

Glowering, Spike rammed his chin onto his folded arms over the back of the chair. “What the heck are you talking about?”

 

Jet heaved a sigh ignoring as Ed continued to sing a whole epic ballad. He muttered, “All part of the old legend. The ancient Earthling city of Zerzura was said to have been found by the only survivor of a camel train traveling through the desert. He nearly got buried in a sandstorm. Afterward he stumbled on this strange white stone gate marked with an unusual bird. A bird he learned was a starling, not native to his country. Within the walls of Zerzura he found a paradise filled with everything the soul desired. Word has it, he eventually left, and was found wandering the desert.”

 

“That doesn't make sense.” Spike grumbled. “Who would want to leave paradise?”

 

“Exactly. No one could get the reason out of him.” He shrugged.

 

“Hrm,” cooed Ed, “insert the key from the birdies beak … Zerzura! Found you!”

 

Both of them darted forward, followed by Faye dashing into the living room just as Ed flipped the feed to the main computer. They stared at the asteroid belt. One asteroid in particular flashed. Beside it a read out flashed the owner's name, Ambrose Tryniski.

 

Jet glanced back at the other two. “Ever heard of him?”

 

Spike's blank stare answered for him. Meanwhile Faye leaned forward, humming. A moment later she shrugged. “Nope. No clue.”

 

“Well, kid,” Jet held out a hand to Ed. “Let's see who this guy is.”

 

Typing in the name, Ed rocked back and forth. “Oo la la, Tryniski's a shrinky-dink!”

 

“Eh?” Spike scratched his head. “Wait, do you mean a shrink? Like a psychiatrist?”

 

“Psycho-icho-ologist!” She plunked her chin in her open palm. “And he plays with knives.”

 

“That's a great combo.” Faye narrowed an eye. “Psychologist and surgeon, right?”

 

“Correcto-mundo. He's a smart smart man with no license. Got pulled on malpractice.” She stretched out the last word into a mock-vile hiss.

 

“You don't think … ” Leaning forward, Jet pointed to a retracted scientific paper link in the list. “What's this?” When Ed opened it, the title flashed across the screen to a chorus of gasps. _Experimental Procedures in Reprogramming the Human Mind and Human Soul in Regard to the Seven Sins._

 

Spike's teeth ground together as he rose from the chair. “How much you wanna bet that the ring of kidnappings are connected to guinea pigs?” He tossed the scrysynch to Ed. “Hook this up and hack the access code. We're using the dark gates.”

 

“But Spike,” Jet jolted to his feet, “I thought you said that network was certain death!”

 

He glared back over his shoulder, a vehemence in his eyes that sent a shudder down Jet's spine. “It is. But do you see any legit gate hear there? I'd stake my life that there is a dark gate right to his back door. The longer we let this _fixer_ tinker with his involuntary toys, the more innocent captives are left at a nut job's mercy. I don't know about you, but I can't let that slide.”

 

*

 

Sergio lay sprawled in the bed. Warm soft sheets beneath him. He had paid a fortune on this vacation from his duties out on Pluto. But it was worth it! He couldn't recall how long it had been since he had even seen a woman, let alone a naked one.

 

The door opened. A black haired beauty stalked in, her golden eyes devoured him as she cross the room. The nearly transparent shift she wore left little to the imagination. He even spied the sweet little tattoo on her hip. A funny little bird on a mushroom.

 

“Well well well.” He licked his lips. “Come here sugar and let me have my way with you. You gotta name?”

 

“They call me,” she began to crawl onto the bed, inching over him with a sly smile, “Coretta. And they tell me you are a naughty, naughty boy craving indulgence.”

 

He laughed. “I only wanna do one naughty thing, girly.” His hand caught on her garment. The sound of fabric tearing filled the air.

 

She leaned down and locked lips with him. Slowly, his body went limp. “That goes for two of us.” She patted his unconscious cheek before reclining on the bed. “You can come in now, Mason. I got a big one for you. This one's special, Ambrose is gonna love him.”

 

The door swung open. A burly man padded in, running a comb through his blond hair. “Heh, not even the ISSP are immune to the lure of sin. It is so nice when they simply volunteer. I'll lug him to the ship while you get dressed. This is the golden boy. Your ticket to paradise, Coretta.”

 

Coretta tugged the shift closed. “Bout damned time. So sick of these schmucks pawing at my flesh.”

 


	19. Session 19

_ **Session 19** _

 

Against the star field, the reflective surface of the gate all but vanished. On the _Bebop's_ radar the location was barely a flicker. Jet fixed his jaw, eyes staring straight into the risky abyss. “Are you sure you have it right, Ed?”

 

“Of course.” She grinned, Ein nuzzling up against her with his tongue lolling out. “We both checked it. Ein says it's right.” Ruffling his ears she giggled. “Spoooky gates!”

 

Spike stood by the window, hands in his pockets. But there was nothing slack about his form. He was rigid, on watch with wolf-like eyes roving the darkness.

 

“Alright,” Faye padded up. “We're going into this … what's it called?”

 

“Dark gate system.” Spike replied tersely.

 

“A network supported by syndicates?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Crawling with all sorts of shoot-on-sight scumbags?”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

“All with a stolen code plugged into a tiny device you used to use when you were a disreputable jerk?”

 

His eyes narrowed. He huffed out a breath.

 

“Great plan, Spike. If you want to get us all killed.”

 

Jet hovered his hand over the controls. “How will I know the code worked?”

 

“I'll put it this way.” From the window, Spike leaned a bit closer. The Bebop's bow nudging the swirling vortex now blooming in their proximity. “You won't know if it didn't.”

 

Beads of sweat poured down Jet's forehead as the waves of light swallowed the front of his precious ship an inch at a time. The ravenous darkspace lapped up at the windowpanes of the bridge stretching further. Along the edges, beams of starlight pulled out into lines. Collectively they held their breaths, all save Ed, who rocked back and forth singing. In the span of a few more seconds the ship fully entered hyperspace smoother than a regular gate.

 

Jet collapsed onto the console.

 

At the window, Spike half closed his eyes. “Don't think it's over. We're not alone in here. I hope you fully armed the _Swordfish._ ”

 

“Yes, and the _Redtail._ You've never steered me wrong about this stuff, Spike. I wasn't about to ignore that warning.”

 

“What warning?” Faye came to the window, throwing a skeptical look down the tunnel of light.

 

“Wait for it.” The eerie tension in Spike jittered her nerves. So rarely had she seen him this serious, and always right before the shit hit the fan in an epic manner. Ten minutes into the darkened tunnel even before the alarm sounded, Spike's hands curled tighter into fists, his eyes narrowed. “Shit.”

 

A second later the alarm blared. Jet grunted. “Great, who the hell is it?”

 

“Don't ask.” Grabbing Faye by the back of her shirt, Spike dragged her with him as he flew down the stairs.

 

“Hey!” She shrieked, her arms flailing all the way down. “Let go of me!”

 

“If you want to see the other side of this gate you'll shut your mouth and fly like you never have before.” He dashed into the ship bay and immediately dropped into the _Swordfish_.

 

Stomping to the _Redtail_ she pointed a finger at him. “Who are they?”

 

“In here? It doesn't matter.” The cockpit closed and he spoke over the com. “All you need to know is they're bad news. Get out here and help me, or we'll be dead before you can blink.”

 

Spike didn't wait. The moment he finished the sequence he called across the com, “Release the _Swordfish_.” No sooner had the words left his mouth then the mag locks released and she floated free. Gunning the engines, Spike pealed out into the light tunnel. His finger rode on the plasma charge. In the distance, a sleek cargo ship loomed, familiar. He had only a second to place it before the com flashed. A man appeared with a face that looked like it had met a frying pan one too many times.

 

“ _The one and only_ Swordfish _. And to my shock who is piloting her? But a dead man. This has been a very odd day, Spike Spiegel.”_

 

Spike smirked. _Shiiiiitttt!_ “Hey, Piazo. How's it hanging?”

 

“ _You're supposed to be a dead Dragon.”_

 

“I get that a lot.” He shrugged at the black market arms dealer. “Guess I'm just too stubborn to believe the rumors.”

 

Piazo gave a gap toothed smile. “Allow me to help you with a convincing argument.” A bright blue flickering blossomed beneath the hulking ship. “My cannon is bigger than yours. Once you're gone I'm going to gut that fishing vessel and hock it for parts!”

 

Spike snicked the switch, the gears turned and slammed his devastator into place. The crackling bolts built along the silver shaft. He grinned, wildly. “Bigger cannon.” His thumb hit the release as he lined up, right down Piazo's barrel. “Longer charge time!”

 

The bolt raced down the tunnel plowing into the barrel, blowing it to bits through the combination of the primary and secondary explosions. Over the com, Spike was rewarded by the chaotic array of alarms.

 

“Oh dear.” He chuckled, spiraling past the ship. “Looks like I cut you down to size. Again. Heh.”

 

“ _Swallow this!”_

 

A barrage of machine gun fire clipped through space. Spike gritted his teeth and ignored the guidance. His eyes gauged the arc as he flew just above it. A missile shot out of the ship chewing on Spike's comet tail. The more he evaded, the tighter it followed. “Crap! Heat seeking.” Piazo always did have some of the best toys. In the confines of the hyperspace his arc remained limited. Spike rolled off to the side, the missile followed. Slamming on the break, he darted down. The missile shot past him, forced to turnaround—not tightly enough. Surfing though the edge of the tunnel the friction of the spacial differential tore it apart. Spike heaved a sigh of relief. But it wasn't over yet!

 

Jet broke over the com,  _“Spike! We got a problem! He just dropped a bunch of mines.”_

 

“I hear yah!” Zipping back past the cargo vessel, Spike angled the nose of the _Swordfish_ down and swept his machine guns across the field of a dozen blinking mines floating in the path of the approaching _Bebop_. Closer her bow came. He gritted his teeth.

 

The mines popped in brilliant flashes of light. The _Bebop's_ haul slid through the fireball of the last one. Jet's relieved sigh cut over the com.

 

The  _Redtail_ slipped up ahead of the ship, hanging before it and pelting the cockpit. “No need to be delicate, Faye! Piazo's a big boy. Give him something to chew on.”

 

“ _Oh yeah?”_ She laughed. _“Ok. How about a special present?”_

 

A streak of light shot toward the bridge. Missiles. Piazo screamed out curses. “We have an explosive cargo on here!”

 

“Is that right?” Spike's eyes glistened. He flipped around, evading the gun ports trying to nail him along the side. The nimble _Swordfish_ slide through the hyperspace and hugged the blindspot. Over the com he listened to Faye's distraction fire peppering holes in the ship. 

 

“ _Where did you go, you pest?”_ Piazo bellowed.

 

Lining up the cargo hold, Spike selected the best of his own missiles. A nice hothead that would melt directly through the plating with concussive force. “Me? Oh, I wouldn't worry about me. After all, how much harm can a _dead man_ cause?” He hit the launch button.

 

The missile blazed off his right wing tunneling into the other ship in a shower of sparks. A second later a bright light flared in the gut of the ship.

 

Spike maxed the air brake and the reverse propulsion slowed him down. The _Redtail_ tumbled over the ship, falling into line with the _Swordfish_. In front of them the black market cargo ship shuddered, smoke and fire splitting the plates. The connection died.

 

“Ed.”

 

“ _Nyaaa? What's Spike want?”_

 

“Did they send out an alarm of any kind?”

 

A pause stretched out. _“Nope. Not a blippity blip.”_

 

Spike leaned forward over the controls and sighed. “Phew! We're clear.”

 

“ _Spike, who was that schmuck? He clearly knew you.”_ Faye barked.

 

“Ahh, well,” he muttered, “I kinda had something to do with his brother getting killed.”

 

“ _Something?”_

 

“Umm, yeah. Something involving a casino hotel shower and a bit of target practice.”

 

Faye blanched. _“What were you targeting?”_

 

He averted his eyes, mumbling, “A very small target.”

 

“ _You have got to be kidding me.”_

 

“Hey. I was still a teenager!”

 

“ _Excuses, excuses.”_

 

He growled and turned back toward the  _Bebop_ . “Come on, we better save fuel. We might have to do this again.”

 

*

 

“I don't trust our luck.” Glowering out the bridge window, Spike's eyes locked on the distant asteroid. A white building sprawled beneath an atmosphere bubble. Docking lights blinked in a sequence on the side.

 

Easing them out of the hyperspace gate, Jet grunted not liking the edge in his partner's voice. “We're out in the middle of nowhere. Not hard to imagine that no one else took that route.”

 

“It's not that. Who has the resources for his own private gate? There's nothing else out here.” The odd note only grew more intense. Fear? Anger? Concern? What was it?

 

Faye huffed a breath. “What's the matter, you suddenly getting cold feet about this?”

 

He tucked the edge of the bandage around his arm tattoo and shook his head. “Not a chance. Just trying to get a feel for this wanna-be god before we walk into his cult.” Eyeing Faye, he smirked, “Don't want you ending up in glorified pjs spouting nonsense again.”

 

Curling a lip, she planted her hands on her hips. “All because of a brainwashing computer system.”

 

Jet tapped Ed's shoulder to get her to look up at him. “Alright, we need two things, kiddo. Open that dock for us without them knowing. And then see if you can dig up anything more on this Ambrose guy.”

 

She saluted him. In an instant her fingers flew across the keys. Three unsuccessful code hacks, then … the lights flared green and opened.

 

Without a word, Spike turned once more to the ship bay, Jet's called after him, “We'll relay what we find out.” He flicked a glance at Faye, “Well? Get down there.”

 

“You want me to go?”

 

“You're the one bending his ear about being careful.” He waved a hand. “Go back him up.”

 

She rolled her eyes and grumbled. “His plans always go sideways.”

 

“That's why I want you down there. Go!”

 

She stomped off, leaving the bridge to the click of Ed's keys. Releasing the monocrafts, Jet leaned back and watched as they soared off from under the bridge cutting a clear path directly to the unusual building. The question weighed heavy on Jet's mind as he murmured, “Who **does** have the resources for this?”

 

 


	20. Session 20

_ **Session 20** _

 

The muzzle of Spike's Jericho led the way through the stark white halls. From somewhere in the complex a klaxon continued to wail. _Heh, when you ask Ed for a distraction, you get a distraction. Nice work._ Pressing further he peered into several empty surgical rooms lined with unusual equipment. He narrowed his eyes at the bundles of wires snaking down from a monitor, attached to it was a device with some sort of capacitor.

 

Over his shoulder, Faye gripped her Austria .45, the muzzle just in his line of sight. “Paradise? Maybe if you're some whacko who gets a kick out of being restrained.”

 

Memories flooded back, the bite of the freezing metal shackles around his wrists, binding them above his head. Spike failed to suppress a shudder. His tight throat wouldn't permit a reply, not even a sarcastic remark. Not that his mind had one to give. Trying to evade the full impact of his incarceration, his thoughts scrambled like a rat lost in an air duct pursued by a snake. He hoped she didn't spot the bead of sweat dripping down his face.

 

The halls near the bay proved deserted. But Spike never trusted his luck after how many times it turned in the past. Ghosting through the passageway they came upon a fork. He flicked a nod to the right. “Check out down there. I'll take the left. Be careful.”

 

She moved past his shoulder, leading with her gun. Oddly enough for Faye, she didn't offer an acidic reply to his order. Silently, Spike wondered if his heartbeat was audible in his voice. Down the left corridor he stared down the gun sight into a few more empty rooms. The third one, the light was off.

 

“ _Got a bit more intel for you.”_ Jet's voice crackled over the speaker phone in Spike's pocket. _“Ambrose Tryniski is the grandson of the patent holder for no less than a dozen neuro-surgical procedures. Third generation, he inherited the family business and was regarded as an astonishing surgeon on Ganymede before he lost his license a few years back. Says here that he went before a grant council to trial a procedure involving reprogramming the human mind, that's the paper we found. Things didn't go well. The council took issue with his definition of 'mental illness', that alone would have earned him a refusal. However, when he told him he'd already proven the viability of his process in human subjects, that sealed the deal. He was ousted, high and dry. Looks like he didn't get the message.”_

 

“Let me guess. The process involves inserting probes directly into the brain.”

 

“ _I'm afraid to ask, how did you guess?”_

 

Standing in the doorway, Spike stared at the now illuminated room. A dozen bodies of various ages laid out on stainless steel tables, each with numerous holes in their shaved heads. A chart hung on a hook at the end of each table following a progression until it reached a flatline, and a single word: **terminated**. Their faces twisted into grimaces.

 

Spike's stomach churned. Havens's insistence for a general anesthetic echoed in his mind. _This could have been me._ He shook his head. Now was not the time to be paralyzed by what-ifs. He needed to keep his head together.

 

Out in the hall, a distant commotion drew him forward, past the next surgical suit. Shadows disrupted the light cast out from the door. He peered into the room at the backside of a scantily clad woman. Her black hair trailing down and brushing the chest of a strapped down, clothed … victim? Spike cocked his head, stunned by the odd situation.

 

Waves coursed over a digital screen. The bundle of wires jerked and moved. Her husky voice joined the panted breathing beneath. “I need an answer, do you still want me?”

 

A man's voice shrieked, “No! Oh God, no! Please get away from me, no more!”

 

Spike's blood froze. He _knew_ that voice. The moment the woman edged to the side to steal a glance at the monitor, he caught a glimpse of Sergio's terrified face. Cuts in his shaved scalp were pierced by over a dozen wires tipped in the sharp probes. Bound to the table, he couldn't move as an IV pumped a blue fluid into his veins. His eyes nearly popped out his head as he bucked on the table.

 

She traced his jaw. “Sugar, you shouldn't lie to Coretta now. You see, the probes don't lie. We'll just have to turn this up. Doctor's orders.” With a flick of her finger she turned a dial, Sergio's eyes grew wider yet.

 

A fire surged through Spike. Holstering the Jericho, he crept into the room behind the distracted Coretta. In a lightning strike, he grabbed her left wrist and wrenched it behind her back. When she arched, his right arm came up across her throat, trapping her. She squirmed against his chest, a fit specimen spooned against his body. Her whiles had no effect on him.

 

“Let me go, or I'll scre—”

 

He cut her off by clamping down harder on her wind-pipe. “You got one chance to answer me right. Are you one of Ambrose's loyal starlings?” Letting off the pressure, he pressed a knee against her lower back to coax the reply.

 

She hissed, “I am a harvester of the damaged souls.”

 

“Well now, that's a real shame.” He half-hooded his eyes. “Any chance you'd consider ditching the lunatic?”

 

Struggling to turn and catch a glimpse of him, she declared, “Ambrose is the wise fixer. At his hands the whole human race will be reborn.”

 

“Wrong answer.” Spike shifted his left hand up and gripped the back of her skull. Coretta tried to break free, but her twist only added to the wrenching motion he applied to her neck, snapping it. Like a marionette with cut strings she fell off the table. Her body collided with the monitor, knocking the whole device over into a cascade of sparks.

 

On the table, Sergio's jerking body stilled. He took shallow breaths, his eyes staring in shock up into Spike's hostile glare. “ … please … God … don't torment me with that vision!”

 

Spike's hand pumped into a fist as his mind dredged up every time the ISSP guard had struck him. Every second spent locked in shackles gasping in the cold air. Every _demonstration_ this man had enticed the other inmates to target his way. His lip curled. How easy it would be to just bury a few rounds from his Jericho into this slimy sadist's head.

 

No. Too easy a death for the coward who even now lay in his own soiled clothing. Spike glanced past the restraint release and turned on his heel, two steps toward the door.

 

“ … God no! … Don't leave … me … please! … ” Reduced to a voice trembling like frightened child's, that's all he was now. A crumbled and shattered man.

 

Spike's head bowed, his hand catching his balance on a cart of various medical equipment. The syringes labeled with psych drugs winked up at him with a promise of fresh hell. A hell no one, not even a prick like Sergio deserved. Turning back, he grabbed the bundle of wires. No other course of action, he yanked—hard. The thin needles slid out with a sucking sound. Sergio writhed and wailed out.

 

Passing by the control, Spike punched the restrain release. The clamps opened. Sergio stared in utter shock. At the door, Spike glared over his shoulder. “Get up, I won't carry you. And I sure as hell won't wait for your ass either.” True to his word, Spike left the room to find Faye jogging down the hall.

 

“Spike, come with me. I found something.” Her eyes glanced to the doorway behind him. Without looking he assumed Sergio shuffled there like a zombie. Faye studied Spike for a moment, when he didn't explain the annoyance on his face, she turned back the way she came. He followed on her heels into a large room lined with floors of barred cells. Inside them, scarred people from Ambrose's project huddled in the shadows. Some thrashed, some rocked back and forth, some just drooled. A few women with locks of hair growing back, reached out of the bars toward small incubators imprisoning crying babies. The word _purified_ scrawled on the side.

 

The realization struck Spike like Sergio's shock stick. His jaw hung loose as the victims held captive in the cells numbered over what he could guesstimate. This guy had seemed crazy before, but this graduated to mad-scientist megalomaniac in the turn of a corner. He ground his teeth. “Ed you on the line?”

 

“ _Yeessss.”_ She spoke in stereo from both Spike and Faye's phones.

 

“Check this out.” Spike grabbed his phone out and swung it around the room for a visual. “We need to release all the latches. Looks like they're electro-mag locks, but there's no main release that I can see.” There was no console in the room. Just hundreds of individual levers. “Would a disruption to the power grid work?”

 

In the video feed, Ed bent closer and studied something. Spike suspected it was the schematics for the building.  _“Yup. No safeguard. Not very smart design. Cut the power, locks will open.”_

 

Faye glanced around, scrunching up her nose. “There's no control panel. The only way I can see it we follow the first cell's wire until we find the main line.”

 

“Not a bad idea.” Approaching the cell with a petrified young woman burying her face in the shadows, Spike pulled out a strip of metal and wedged it under the lock's panel. Popping it open, he grabbed onto the thick cable and waved at Faye. “Get over here and give me a hand.” He glowered at Sergio clinging to the doorway. The man was a bright shade of green. He'd be utterly useless.

 

Faye gripped the cable. They yanked hard, the thick cord popping the weak rivets and parting the plates down the wall. In a short series of pulls they produced a junction to a heavy gauge insulated cable at floor level. “Stand back.” Spike laid the strip of metal against the cable. Taking a deep breath, he hoped precise timing could pay off. In a single kick he withdrew his foot to a shower of sparks. The clank of hundreds of locks releasing thundered into the room. The doors opened. Victims staggered out dull-eyed into the room. The mothers assaulted the incubators and claimed the babies.

 

The victory remained short-lived. Jet called out, _“That's only one room. There's two more. I'll send you the map.”_

 

“Shit.” Spike snapped, staring at the image.

 

Faye's eyes widened. “Seriously? What do you want us to do? Sooner or later they're bound to come back to this end. We can't get everyw—”

 

“I'll get to this one.” Spike pointed. “You go unlock here. Yours is closer, near what looks like the main control room.”

 

Narrowing her eyes she huffed, “Sure, let's go with the plan that'll get us killed.”

 

“Be serious, Faye.” Spike drew his gun and smirked. “You can kick anyone's ass, so just drop it and let's plug this asshole.”

 

She blushed, her head jerking back at his words. A stunned smile crossed her face. “What about them?”

 

“They can stay here. Or tag-a-long. To be honest, I'm not certain they'd even listen right now.” He darted out the room, to his surprise, Sergio shambled at his heels.

 

 

 


	21. Session 21

_ **Session 21** _

 

Holding the end of a disrupted wire in his hand, Spike cocked his head at a static distorted sentence over the phone. “What's the matter, Faye? You get lost?” Spike paused when there was no reply, he grabbed the phone and squinted at it. “This thing still on? Faye?”

 

Jet's voice answered.  _ “Something wrong, Spike?”  _

 

Tensing, Spike darted a glance back the way he had come. The corridor lined with the freed captives clinging to one another for support. Something was very wrong. “Move it! Out of the way!” Spike dashed headlong through them uncaring if they followed in his wake. As swiftly as he could, he headed toward the central control room where Faye's target had been.

 

He skidded through the door to find Faye restrained on a table by electro-mag cuffs on her wrists, struggling against a man's hand clasping her mouth. Blood dripped from a cut on her forehead.

 

Hellbent, Spike narrowed his eyes and drove toward them, palms at the ready.

 

A bang hitched his step. A millisecond later, two bolts slammed into his left side, pinpointing the still raw scar. Spike flailed in the air, fighting to catch his balance. There was no time. The electrical flow shot through the line taking his breath with it in a forced exhale as every muscle convulsed. Spike toppled forward, colliding with a rolling tray of instruments and sending them cascading to the floor. Paralyzed by the shock, Spike lay on his side gasping and shuddering in a mixture of current and remembered agony.

 

“Fool.” Ambrose retracted the taser leads with a sly smile. Dressed in an embroidered robe reminiscent of a shaman, the slightly-built zealot held out a hand, palm up. “So it seems Dr. Havens was correct about your affliction, Spike Spiegel. How wonderfully appealing. But don't you fret. Even though you did not come willingly, Zerzura will still help your wayward soul.”

 

Still sprawled out, Spike clutched his side and winced.

 

The man silencing Faye shouted and pulled back, cradling his hand. She growled, “You better let me go if you know what's good for you!”

 

Ambrose merely smiled and paced toward her. His brown curly hair bobbed as he swayed. Sure of himself, his deep blue eyes gleamed like an oasis … a mirage of one. “Oh, don't you worry Ms. Valentine. We have the means to take care of your affliction as well.”

 

“Wait … how do you know me?” She narrowed her eyes.

 

“I know all about you and that ship full of depravity.”

 

A man at a console locked eyes with him. “System has been hacked, sir. We have complete control.”

 

Ambrose serenely replied, “Kill all systems. We'll let the  _ Bebop _ drift for a bit before harvesting the remainder of the crew for salvation.”

 

“ _Wha—”_ The comlink died.

 

Faye blanched. “No! Jet, Ed!” Thrashing in the restrains, she scrunched up her nose. “You're gonna pay for that.”

 

“I'm curious, who do you think is going to do that? You, my dear? Or him? Trust me, he won't be getting up anytime soon.” Ambrose grasped his hands behind his back. “Many seek the halls of Zerzura since the legends of Earth.  _ Take with your hand the key in the beak of the bird, then open the door of the city. Enter, and there you will find great riches. _ Disappointment comes to those who believe in material wealth, Faye.” He nodded to her. “For the greedy fail to grasp that true treasure is knowledge.”

 

She stole a glance at Spike who had barely moved. This was getting serious. The problem with the electro-mag lock amounted to no easy way to pick it, unlike a regular cuff. The only way out was to release the lever on the console well out of her reach. Faye groused, “You talk too much without saying a damn thing!”

 

“Observing you now one might wonder what your vice is, my dear.” Ambrose appraised her, wandering around her in a wide circle. “The attire, leaving so very little to the imagination, suggests lust. But that would be a false analysis. At your core you are hobbled by greed, a tendency that shows itself in your affection for the casinos, despite how often you lose.”

 

She pumped her fists, glaring at one of the leering henchmen. “Hey! Get your eyes off me.” Snapping that glare to Ambrose she continued, “Who makes you the judge?”

 

Ambrose grinned like a Cheshire cat and wandered over toward Spike. “Humanity is fundamentally flawed by the core vices that plague our existence, seven in number:,” he ticked the list off on his fingers, “pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth. Eliminate those and humanity can achieve its greatest purity. That is what we do here. Purify the human soul.”

 

In the shadows of the room the freed _experiments_ shied back, trembling at his words. Some grasped their heads where probes had been torn from surgical scars. Sergio gripped the wall and bent over retching. None of Ambrose's men bothered with the cowed victims, they only grinned and cracked their knuckles.

 

“So, you're telling me you have figured out how to remove something intangible? That's rich!” She snarked.

 

But Ambrose didn't flinch. He nodded, the smile widening. “Precisely. It has regretfully taken a number of failures. But perfection is well worth sacrifice. You all will reap the benefits of my toil. We will start the foundations of a bright new perfect generation. I shall remove your greed. And for your friend here, who refused the services of the good Dr. Havens, I will endeavor to relieve him of the affliction of his pride.”

 

Spike tensed and grunted, gripping his left side hard. His eyes twitched in a frightening gaze that Faye recognized from the altercation at the cathedral. The rage once directed at Vicious blazed anew there. Her breath caught in her chest. “Spike, are you gonna let this loudmouth keep this shit up? Get off your ass and plug him!”

 

Ambrose chuckled and continued to pace. “His own pride provided the fall when he consulted Dr. Havens to have the scar removed. Because of that vain weakness he provided the knowledge that essentially brought himself to his own knees. I have been prepared for his salvation since detecting the  _ Bebop _ 's approach. A lengthy procedure for all four of you. But you will be made pure as the virgin snow.”

 

“All four of us?” Faye jerked. “Spike! Get up, damn it! Or do you want Jet and Ed to become this wacko's guinea pigs?”

 

Spike panted, sliding a shoulder across the floor a short distance before he flopped down.

 

Faye ground her teeth. “Don't you dare give up, you insufferable ass!”

 

Ambrose leaned over him. “Pride is such a painful vice.”

 

“You got it all wrong.” Spike huffed, glaring over his shoulder. “It's not pride that drove me … it was shame! Pride's not my vice, it's— ** wrath ** !” In a savage jolt, Spike slammed a syringe into the side of Ambrose's neck pressing the plunger. As the stunned Ambrose staggered backward, Spike grimaced and rolled to his feet breathing hard but poised for an attack.

 

Ambrose pulled the syringe free and stared at the label with a laugh. “A local anesthetic? You truly are a fool.”

 

“Wait for it.” Spike smirked, eyeing the stunned guards he watched for the first to chose his initiative. They all looked at Ambrose. “You see, pal, you didn't really get to know me well enough. I may not be a doctor, but I do know how to pinpoint the main vessels in the neck.”

 

Ambrose's eyes widened a moment before they rolled. He teetered backward.

 

“Local isn't local anymore when it hits the bloodstream.” Spike grinned wickedly.

 

“Get him!” Ambrose cried as he crumbled backward, clutching a console.

 

The men closed in on Spike clearly hoping their numbers would help them. But he grabbed the first henchmen by the wrist and flung him in a circle, back at the group. Several tripped and fell in the mess forming a natural barrier.

 

One of the men staggered back to avoid getting clobbered as one of his comrades flew toward him, subjected to a violent kick. The moment he stepped in front of her, Faye rammed her heel into his back. He stumbled forward with a yelp, striking the console and hitting the release lever for her cuffs. Freed, Faye leapt for him, grabbing his tie, she yanked the knot tight enough that his face turned blue. “Son of a bitch! Never put your filthy hand over a lady's mouth again!” Once he toppled to the floor motionless, she picked up a metal rod and started kneecapping the squad from behind. They turned into the bloodbath, now caught between Faye's brutal battering and Spike's savage strikes. Fear plastered their faces.

 

Cutting off a group of them, Faye turned her back to Spike confident in what she had glimpsed that he was guarding his weak spot. She grinned as one of the men gave her wink and suggested, “Better put that down, you're gonna break a nail.”

 

“Better watch your mouth,” she swung and decked him through the hand he tried to catch it with, he went down with a solid thud, “you're gonna break a few teeth.” The others stiffened and took a step back. “Aww, come on, boys. I just wanna play with you.”

 

Spike wrenched the shoulder of the last guard in his sights, slamming him face first into a console. Pulling out his gun he stormed over to Ambrose and grabbed him by the collar. The wretched man hung limp in Spike's white-knuckled grasp. Ambrose could barely lift his head.

 

“You're a real piece of work!” Spike trembled, his teeth ground as he pressed the gun between Ambrose's eyes. “You arrogant hypocrite! Look in the damned mirror for once. The search for perfection? Our flaws are what make us human, you god-damned prick. What gives you the right to take people's lives and cut out whatever you deem unworthy! There's nothing in this galaxy like being forced to live someone else's demented lie!”

 

Faye flattened the last of her group. Around the edges of the room, the cowed victims watched in anticipation. Sergio cringing into his own arm, beads of sweat pouring down his forehead. She turned in shock, her eyes wide as Spike milked the trigger on his gun. “Spike, don't!”

 

He flinched, his jaw tightening. The wild look in his eyes only growing darker.

 

“Spike!” She held out a hand, not daring to come closer. “You'll blow the reward if you kill him.”

 

“This body thief doesn't deserve life!” Spike's icy voice snarled.

 

“Wait, listen.” She fought to keep her voice level. “No one knows more than you what it's like to lose it all, Spike. To go on living … in death, when everything's been taken. There's nothing worse than having your choices stolen from you. For the sake of all those who were his victims, don't give him the easy way out. Let him live with his own freedom stripped away.”

 

Spike's eyes narrowed, boring into Ambrose's pathetic figure. His finger twitched. Slowly, his head bowed as he squeezed his eyes tight, withdrawing from trigger. “Shit!” She heaved a sigh. A second later Spike drew the gun back in a wide arc and pistol-whipped Ambrose across the face. The zealot performed a sloppy pirouette and lost consciousness.

 

“Really? Did you have to?”

 

“I am not like that proud son of a bitch, Vicious!” Spike bellowed. He hitched over, grabbing his left side with a hiss. “Shit! I want this damn scar gone. I can't carry this … ”

 

Kneeling at his side, she bowed her head as Spike jerked away from her. “Easy, big guy. I'm sure we can find a way.”

 

The lights of the station flickered, they glanced up. Ed's voice crackled,  _ “Greetings from outer space!” _

 

“Ed! You guys are alright?” Faye cried out.

 

“ _Course we are. Bad men hacked the Bebop. Ed hacked them back.”_

 

She grinned, “Way to go!”

 

Jet's voice took over.  _ “You guys alright? Things sounded off before we lost power here.” _

 

“Yeah.” Spike answered flatly. “We got his ass in the bag.”

 

“ _Alive?”_

 

“Does still breathing count?”

 

After a short pause, Jet announced,  _ “We're opening the hanger, gonna take the Bebop inside. Met you guys there.” _

 

The moment the signal cut, still grasping his side Spike glared at Faye. “Not one damn word to Jet! You hear me?”

 

“Are you sure you're alright?” She tried to reach for his shoulder.

 

Spike ducked away from it, raising with a grunt. “I'll be fine.” The tension in his voice suggested something altogether different. “Come on.” He bent to pick up Ambrose and the moment he took the weight his knees buckled. “Ack!”

 

“Spike!” She dashed in. “Why don't we wait for Jet, he can help.”

 

Jerking away from her, he snapped, “I told you, I'm fine! Now back off!”

 

In silence they sat. Faye staring at the decking, Spike off into the distance. At last he pulled out his phone and opened the channel. “Yo Jet, meet us in the main control room. We have quite a stack to lug to the ship. Could use a hand.”

 

“ _Roger.”_

 

Spike turned to Faye and flicked a hand. “There. Happy?”

 

 


	22. Session 22

_ **Session 22** _

 

Spike stalked through the crowded ship muttering to himself. He wished he hadn't lost the argument with Jet to just let the victims wait on the asteroid for the ISSP to pick them up. The _Bebop_ wasn't large enough to haul this many people. Everywhere he turned it was wall-to-wall people huddled in their Zerzura procedure robes, shaved heads with probe scars. It gave him the willies, made his own side ache. Of course, he'd screwed up and forgotten to keep the bandages over the tattoos. By now word had spread like the wild fire, and in droves they darted away from him like he had the plague or something.

 

Without taking the dark gates back, the trip to Ganymede lengthened considerably, at least til they could reach the TJ hypergate. _Too long_ , he thought as he stomped up the stairs to the deserted bridge. Here he could relax a bit, not subjected to the eyes that feared him, even though he had saved their skins. _That's gratitude for you._

 

An odd gait climbed the steps. Spike watched the reflection in the glass. Sergio. Spike folded his arms over his chest, still gazing out the front of the ship. “Yo, the bridge is for crew only. So scat.”

 

The steps came a bit closer. Out of the corner of his eye Spike glimpsed the man's bowed head, stealing a nervous glance his way. Spike rolled his fingers over the tattoo bars of his arm. “Sergio, I knew you were stubborn, didn't peg you as deaf. Crew only—go!”

 

“I … I … ” he stuttered, “I never even knew your name. They call you Spike?”

 

Blowing out a breath through his nose, he plucked out a cigarette and lit it slowly, exhaling again before he replied. “I guess that makes you slow, too.”

 

He cringed, gripping the scars on his head. “I don't understand. It makes no sense. You knew, knew who I was and yet you released me.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sergio's tear-rimmed eyes met Spike's dead stare. “Why didn't you leave me? Get your revenge?”

 

Half-lidding his eyes, Spike inhaled the smoke and held it for a moment before letting the breath go noisily. “Shows what you knew about me, doesn't it, Sergio. Now that you've had a taste of being powerless, how does it feel?”

 

His knees buckled, sending him to the deck. “ … broken … ”

 

“Imagine that lasting for months on end, now.”

 

“How come you didn't break? How are you still so … so … ”

 

Spike turned back to the stars skidding by in regular space. The true answer might take the whole of the journey to explain. And Sergio unlikely to have enough left in his rattled mind to absorb it. “Because I'm not the man you gauged me to be. I always fight for what I believe in. That belief was that you were wrong in how you treated me.”

 

“I was … and I … I can't go back to the Quidlivun Cavus … I have to put in for a transfer somewhere else … if … ” his voice cut off in a deep swallow, “if you let me live.”

 

Heat burned in Spike's fist. It pumped, eager to drive right into him, beating him black and blue into the deck of the ship. Slowly the fist rose, trembling in the air. Before … an increment at a time he forced it come down and hang at his side. His head bowed. He loathed how haunted his voice was when he spoke, but there was no banishing the tone. “Humans make mistakes. You're human. In the end, you're no different than I am. Living on, bearing your regret will leave a deeper wound than any fist can inflict, Sergio. You will live to realize that. And you won't be thanking me for it.”

 

Subconsciously, Spike's hand gripped his left side.

 

“I know this isn't enough.” Sergio stared at his hands on the decking. “But I'm sorry, truly sorry for how I treated you.”

 

“What about everyone else?”

 

He crumpled forward. “Oh, what have I done?”

 

Tucking his hands in his pockets, Spike turned toward the stairs. “Keep asking, one day you'll figure it out.”

 


	23. Session 23

_ **Session 23** _

 

Sitting on the edge of the table, Spike fought to keep his breathing even. Suddenly it seemed like a bad idea, a very bad idea. The trip back to Mars after the huge reward from Ganymede had been uneventful. And even now, everything seemed fine. But now, staring at the old unlicensed surgeon as he straightened his white mustache, Spike dreaded the IV in his arm. He panted, “There isn't another way?”

 

“Nope.” He leaned against a monitor, his nurse sitting there, waiting to push the button.

 

Sweating bullets, Spike's fingers traced the tattoo on his arm. Even he could tell he had flushed pale as a Callisto winter snow.

 

“Stop being a baby.” Faye snorted from the corner. “Sheesh, it's not that big of a deal.”

 

“Not  _** that ** _ big of a deal?” He bristled noting Jet blanched behind her. “Need I remind you about the last time I woke up from being out cold?”

 

She threw a stunned look at Jet before the attitude dropped completely. “Spike … you're not acting. You're  _ really _ scared.”

 

He bowed his head, hating how much he trembled. Biting his lip he nodded.

 

Faye stepped forward, laying a hand on his shoulder. “We'll be here. The whole time.” She patted her holstered gun. “You're not going anywhere. We promise.”

 

His hand rested on hers for a long moment before she eased him down on the table.

 

At the signal from the doc, the nurse hit the button and Spike's eyes began to edge closed. The doc edged Spike's right eyelid open, twitching his finger in the air until one point. He flipped his hand around. “Hold him there!”

 

Jet scratched his head. “Uhhh, doc, you gonna shut his eye?”

 

Already working on the scar on Spike's side, he snorted, “You shitting me? No need. Synthetic eyes don't technically need to blink. It's just habit. Besides, it takes a lot of juice to knock out the signal, if _that_ iris doesn't respond, he's in deep. I don't want a stray reflex decking me while I repair the nerve cluster in this scarred up mess. Whoever kept nailing this, screwed things up royally, pretty much locked the nerves on full impulse all the time. Surprised he could even move, let alone breathe. The pain must have been excruciating.”

 

Faye and Jet leaned forward, blinking.

 

“Could just do the cosmetic stuff and leave this mess, that's why I had to knock him out. Not even he could swallow what I gotta correct here. Get comfy, this will take a bit. And yeah, he'll be out longer than I told him.” The doc grinned. “Cause if I had he would have argued with me longer.”

 

*

 

Hours later, Spike cracked open his eyes. His brain foggy with the after effects of something. It came to him, in bits and pieces. Shifting his arm, he glanced down at the flawless skin unmarred by the dark bars. They were gone. With a grunt he tried to glimpse his side, the world swam. “Ohhhhh.” He moaned as his empty stomach churned.

 

“Easy, Spike-o.” Jet's hand pressed his shoulder back down. “You were under very deep. It'll take a bit to clear. You're alright.”

 

The doc's mustache flicked up at the corners. “Give him a few hours, we'll see if he can keep something solid down. Once he can do that, he can go back to the  _ Bebop.  _ He'll be groggy, probably sleep the rest of the day.”

 

At the edge of Spike's tunneled vision, Faye rubbed her chin. “Hey doc, talking about anesthetic, what happens when a local gets into the bloodstream?”

 

The doc's face colored. “Well, a lot of things. But basically it steals your equilibrium. Think of like a bad drug trip. Why?”

 

“Spike did it to someone. Clearly he knew it would render the guy useless. How did he know?”

 

Ducking into his white coat, the surgeon muttered, “Damn, I didn't think he'd remembered that night.”

 

“Ohhh … ” Spike muttered. “I did. Enough of it, anyway.” His eyes shut. “This … feels a lot worse.”

 

*

 

Jet hit the keys on the screen bringing up the money laundering bounty. He flashed a glimpse up at Faye. “It's a good hit, close by.”

 

“Since Spike's surgery all but cleared us out.”

 

Throwing a glance over his shoulder at Spike, sleeping on the couch still dogged by the aftereffects of the anesthetic, he held a finger to his lips. “Don't let him know that. He feels bad enough. And besides, we both agreed it was worth it to get him back. After hearing about that nerve cluster, I'm glad we did.”

 

She nodded. “Alright. Let's go catch a small fry. If we're lucky we'll be out and back before he even stirs.”

 

With the info on board their monocrafts, Jet and Faye took off leaving the  _ Bebop  _ in their wake. Fifteen minutes into their flight across the crater a bright red streak blew by them. Spike's voice crackled over the channel,  _ “You guys seriously thought you could leave me out of this? Not on your lives. Who's the target?” _

 

Jet's jaw hung loose. “Shouldn't you still be sleeping?”

 

“ _Nah, done enough of that for a lifetime. I'm wide awake now. Ready to kick some serious ass! Gotta debt to pay off, you know. And unlike_ ** some  ** members of the crew I always honor my debts.”  He chuckled, the wingtip of the  _ Swordfish _ nearly touching the  _ Redtail _ .

 

Faye growled over the channel,  _ “Hey, was that a shot at me?” _

 

“ _You said it, not me!”_

 

“Alright.” Jet relented with a laugh. “File headed your way, hotshot. Welcome back.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See You Space Cowboy.


End file.
